


Catalyst to the Crown

by demonglass, jihoonscereal



Category: Stray Kids (Band)
Genre: Crack and Angst, Hurt/Comfort, M/M, Pining, Slow Burn, all around a good time, catalyst: smth that causes an event or situation to happen suddenly unexpectedly or prematurely, fantasy! there's swords n other surprises, it's struggle city up in this bitch but they have each other's backs, jeongin is a lil shit, keep that in mind lol, more relationship tags tba, mystery solving n assassination attempts, royal kingdom au!, skiz have 3 collective braincells and 2 are woojin's, speaking of everyone they're all a lil dumb but they're trying their best, there's fighting n swordfighting, woojin is a bamf and also mayhaps he adopts almost everyone
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2018-07-10
Updated: 2019-04-07
Packaged: 2019-06-08 09:29:59
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 20
Words: 106,274
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/15240414
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/demonglass/pseuds/demonglass, https://archiveofourown.org/users/jihoonscereal/pseuds/jihoonscereal
Summary: Though they come from different districts and different lives, as lurking dangers and unknown forces begin to stir in the shadows of their world, one way or another, they all seem to find their way to District Nine.





	1. I. Haven

**Author's Note:**

> okok so I'm branching out from my usual stuff with this so bear with me (and the talented, brilliant, incredible, amazing, show stopping, spectacular co-author jihoonscereal because this would still be half-baked and dead in the water without her!)
> 
> thank you and enjoy!!

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Felix centric chapter I wrote alone fueled by NEX7's "for you" and sleep deprivation. It's kinda short but it's mostly world-building and plot and character set-up and the next one is already written and it's longer and more interesting so stick around for it!

The summer sun is high in the sky and Felix is wiping sweat off his forehead routinely by the time all his winter wheat seeds are planted. He supposes it’s better he do the seeds today when the air is heavy with the promise of coming rain than on a painfully dry day, but it hardly takes the ache out of his arms. He considers heading back home to see if Jisung is back from town yet, but his brother is rarely home before the sun has dipped past the hills to the west, and Felix would much rather rinse the salt off his skin and cool down in the stream than bake in the heat of their small home, so he brings his tools back to the shed and leaves the fields behind.

Felix loses track of time quickly; it’s hard to tell how long he’s been walking before he can't see the expanse of fields behind him anymore, and is surrounded only by the tall dark trees of the Deepwoods. The sun is no longer beating down on his neck and the sweat that had been dripping into his eyes all day has receded. The air is cooler in the shade of the trees and he welcomes the reprieve, but he keeps moving forward towards his destination: the stream that winds past the field of blueburns only he and Jisung know exists. When he reaches the end of the trees’ cover and emerges from the shade back into blinding sunlight, the rest of the world has fallen away; he can’t hear the hum of shouts across plots or working animals, and is blanketed by the soft sounds of rustling leaves and birdsong

From where he stands he can see only tall grasses, and, beyond them, the Deadwoods that spread as far as the eye can see across the boundary between their kingdom's land and foreign territory. No one comes back here except for him; no one has reason to. He and Jisung, alone, know what's down the hill to his left and hidden by the sea of broken, ungrowing trees that haven't seen green leaves as long as his father has been alive. Felix trudges through the dry grass that snaps against his legs, careful to avoid the mess of bramble and thickets obscuring his destination, and sinks into his favorite small corner of the world. Completely hidden from view unless you pass through the weeds and maneuver around the thorns, Haven, which he named a few Seasons ago, emerges before his eyes. The river bends and gurgles peacefully around the ground blanketed by blueburns, and the sun dapples the grass through the arms of many barren trees.

Felix thinks back to the day he and Jisung fell upon this place while playing creature seeker in the Deepwoods so many Turns ago. He remembers his hesitancy to even enter the woods in the first place, since few people wandered there unless they were hunting game, and children certainly weren't allowed without supervision. But Jisung had insisted, and what Jisung wanted, he got. He remembers almost turning back home when Jisung had left even the cover of the trees and raced excitedly through the grass - waist high when he was smaller - and into the Deadwoods, which even the border patrol sent by the capitol hesitated to enter. But Felix was younger and scared to stand under the dark canopy alone, so he followed after his brother. It was only when he stumbled in the tall expanse of weeds that cut between lush forest and empty, hollow branches, that he found it. Felix head scraped his hands and knees on bramble and rocks on his tumble from atop the hill, but when he landed at the bottom, the bright water and the near-glowing flowers kept him from crying out in pain, and he instead called out for his brother. Jisung hadn't shared the same excitement though. He had appeared bathed in sunlight at the top of the hill with and almost frightened look on his face and shadows in his eyes, and had called Felix up and dragged him back into the Deepwoods and far away from the oasis. When they were safely back in the rice fields, Jisung told him to stay quiet about what they’d found. They weren't supposed to go that far anyway. So, Felix had never said anything, and though Jisung knew he returned frequently, they never spoke about it. It wasn't a secret between them, but both brothers had ventures the other would rather not speak of.

Felix shakes himself out of the memory, pulling his sweaty shirt over his head and kicking his sandals off. He shakes the dirt out of the pockets of his shorts, tosses the them on the ground by his shoes, and wades into the water with his shirt still in his hands. He lets the gentle current rinse the fabric clean, before wringing it out and laying it beside his shorts to dry. Then he tucks his knees to his chest and lets the water fold in over his head as he sinks to the shallow bottom. The thick silence of the Deadwoods is run out of his ears and he tilts his head back, opens his eyes, and looks up at the sky through the rippling surface of the water. A small, contented sigh pushes past his lips. He watches the stream of bubbles float up and disappear into the air above him and is enveloped by a kind of serenity he’s sure doesn’t exist anywhere else in the world. Felix stays under as long as his lungs can stand it, and the tired tension leaves his body.

When he finally resurfaces, hot air warms his skin and settles the fire in his lungs. He runs a hand down his face, shakes his hair out, and lays down on the grass beside his things. The sunlight is marbled through the tree branches, and a spot lands on Felix’s cheek, the heat gentle and pleasant on his skin after the cool water. Felix closes his eyes after a moment, breathing easy and savoring the peace of his time away. He knows the Rounds are coming up, and with the soldiers in town and the increased workload they bring, he’ll be lucky to find any time to sneak away for a few days at least. But they haven’t come yet, so he lets himself forget about them.

A breeze rustles the tall grass above him and he falls half-asleep to the sound, stirring some time later to raindrops on his face and a sky thick with pink tinged clouds. He sits up slowly, still waking up all the way, pulls his shirt over his head and slips back into his shorts and sandals. Standing, he takes a look around Haven, painting it in his mind again even though the image is vivid and secure already; it has hardly changed at all in all the time he’s know about it, the blueburns have only grown a bit in numbers.

The raindrops start hitting a little harder and Felix turns to leave then, climbing the hill and saying a quiet goodbye. Brambles catch on his shorts before he can cut through the sea of grass ahead of him, though. He twists to detangle himself, muttering under his breath. He must still be out of it from his nap, because there’s not a soul in sight, but he still feels a sense of closeness in the air around him. It must be the contrast of the warmth of the day and the coolness of the rain on his shoulders. While he considers this absently, a rabbit leaps into view and he finds himself smiling at its scrunched-up cheeks, even while freeing himself from the thorns. The rabbit eyes him for a moment, before something catches its attention beyond the bramble in the Deadwoods and it disappears into the thickets. Felix straightens to see where it went, but it has vanished into the brown underbrush, so he returns to the task at hand, and leaves the thorns behind with only a few loose strings hanging from his shorts and a small streak of quickly drying blood across his  palm. He’ll ask Jisung to fix the shorts if they fray at all; his brother has the careful, precise hands of a seamstress. He takes after their mother, and almost went with her to the Capital to apprentice under her while she sewed for the rich and royal, but Felix is glad he decided to stay home. It would have been lonely with just him and their father.

The walk home flys by, maybe because he’s moving faster than before in the growing darkness, but more likely because his mind is determined to stay in the oasis for as long as possible before it has to snap back to reality and the new day that will come tomorrow. The rain doesn’t get through the canopy of leaves above him, but he hears it pounding by the time he nears the end of the woods, and hopes, briefly, that the rain will delay the soldiers on their way to the village. He knows it’s silly, Colonel Park is a gentle breeze compared to some of the stories Jisung has heard from traders and travellers alike, but that doesn’t make his presence, or that of his troops in town, any less taxing on their stocks.

He’s fully in the rain now, jogging past the field on his way home, and chiding himself. The soldiers never stay more than three days at the most, and they make camp by the main road instead of staying in town - there aren’t large enough inns in many of the small farming villages - and take only what’s been prepared. By the new moon the town will be back to normal and there will be nothing to worry about again. It’s fine. Felix tells himself this again and again as his feet sink in shallow mud while running, until he finally believes it.

Jisung is home when he arrives, grinning at his drenched brother and handing him dinner and a towel. Felix can tell he’s been to Woojin’s today because there’s still a streak of black on his forehead, and familiar comfort of overwhelms him.

Two days later, the soldiers have collected all the required goods, done all the proper checks, and are preparing to leave the following morning. All is well, until, during a dinner without their father, who’s working late in the fields again, Jisung tells Felix he heard word in town that Colonel Park is taking a leave for the birth of his firstborn, and that his replacement will be coming in from the east to join their crew, taking over the unit indefinitely.

The village’s next Rounds do not go so smoothly.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> so,, there it is! let me know what you think and the next chapter will be up v soon 
> 
> and the time measurements we use are:
> 
> days (very straightforward)  
> hebdomads (weeks)  
> fortnights (two weeks)  
> cycles (basically months but they follow the moon's waxing and waning)  
> seasons (warm, hot, cool, cold - you know the drill)  
> turns (years)
> 
> feel free to ask any questions you have about it :)
> 
> \- demonglass


	2. II. The Rounds

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> alternative chapter title: shit goes down

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> can't believe woojin is the best character in this whole fic. he's literally thor i love him

It hardly takes any time for Felix to figure out something is painfully different from last time. He’s in the near fields examining the rows of white beans that seem to be maturing sooner than usual when he first notices the shouting. It’s faint, but clear, so it must be coming from fairly nearby, and he has a good idea what it’s about. The Rounds have come sooner this time, for starters, and the new colonel, Song, is what Jisung described - very generously after his first sighting - as a firecracker. Felix wouldn’t be so kind. If Colonel Park was a gentle breeze, Colonel Song is a gale, and as loud as the shrieking winds as well. Felix would put stock on the noise not only having something to do with Song, but being started by the man himself. He debates staying with the crops a little longer and waiting for the shouting to die down, but his curiosity gets the better of him and he spares the beans one final glance before carefully picking his way out of the fields and following the growing noise.

He finds a small crowd of people gathered near Woojin’s workshop, and, to his dismay, Jisung as well. Felix slips through an opening in the bodies and peers through the open door to get a better look. Woojin is in an apron and still holding his hammer, while Jisung is perched on a stool behind him, pretending not to wince as the colonel shouts in Woojin’s unmoving face. One private is in the workshop with them, and the rest are huddled together outside, all unfazed by the scene, save one Felix has never seen before who’s staring at his feet like they’re the most interesting things in the world.

Felix tunes into the actual words being said when the colonel finally stops shouting to take a breath and Woojin speaks up, stoic as ever.

“Like I said, Colonel, the Capital’s weapons are transported by merchant, and they do not coincide with the Rounds. These ones won’t be done for days still, and even if they were ready, I wouldn’t send them with you.”

The colonel clearly isn’t happy with that answer, though from the look on Jisung’s face, he has already been turned down once. Felix inches closer to get a better look, but it means the shouting hits his ears harder than before.

“The weapons are military property,” the colonel yells, waving his arms and taking a step closer to Woojin. Felix sees Jisung tense behind the Woojin, but the backsmith himself doesn’t move. “We own those weapons. Who are you to turn them down to me? I work for the crown, you work in a small farm town on the corner of the map. The smoke from this forge must have made you a bit slow for you to think you can refuse the Rounds.”

Felix is past the crowd now, on the other side of the door as the soldiers, and he sees anger flash in Woojin’s eyes as he steps toward the colonel and shields Jisung - who looks a bit afraid, and utterly trapped now - behind his back.

“My weapons are commissioned by the Second Prince. They belong to the military after he adds them to the stocks, and until he receives them, every piece belongs to me. With all due respect,” he adds in a tone that Felix is fairly sure implies no respect at all, “you have absolutely no power or authority to take them from me. Unless you wish to defy the orders of the General of the Army, I would suggest leaving now, and collecting only what the Rounds call for.”

Felix can practically see the anger rolling off the colonel in waves, but from the looks on the faces of the soldiers outside the door, he can tell that Woojin has won the argument. It isn’t long before Song marches out of the workshop with a fuming “We’ll see you again next time,” and a face red with rage. The crowd disperses quickly as the soldiers follow the colonel away from the forge and back towards town, but Felix is paying more attention to Jisung and Woojin, still inside. He’s about to head in to make sure they’re all right when Woojin deflates a bit and turns to Jisung to speak, and he hesitates a moment.

“Sun and stars I’m sorry you got stuck in here during that,” Woojin says in a voice much softer than the one he’d used with the colonel. “Are you okay, Jisung?”

Jisung nods, but his hands are clutched tightly in his lap, and his answer isn’t very believable. “He didn’t even look at me after the layabout comment, so I’m fine. I was more worried about you. Are you allowed to turn him down like that? Won’t he come back madder than before? He seemed really angry.”

Woojin doesn’t seems to believe Jisung’s answer any more than Felix does, but he doesn’t press it; a skill Felix has yet to master. Instead, he sighs and sets his hammer down on the tabletop. “What I said was true: he has no authority to take the weapons from me without orders, and even then it’s iffy if they’re not from the Prince directly, but we’re pretty far out from the Capital, and the crown doesn’t truly have as much power here as the military does. If he were to come back with force, I’d probably have give my work up, but I’m in no rush to find out. Let’s just hope he cools off somewhat before he comes back. This is his first Rounds with a new unit, after all. I shouldn’t have anything near completion next time anyway, so maybe it won’t be as bad.”

Felix can see the doubt on Jisung’s face clear as day, and realizes Woojin must not have much conviction in his words either. He decides it’s best to just leave them alone for the time being as the conversation seems a bit too personal for him to be snooping on, and heads back towards the fields for the day. He does his best not to think about the fight, and spends the rest of the soldier’s stay hidden in the fields under the pretence of balancing planting and harvesting, and waits with bated breath for the troops to leave town.

Even when the soldier’s are gone, though, he can see the repercussions of their visit are much more pronounced than it ever was with Colonel Park. Jisung, for starters, has been spending more time than ever at Woojin’s forge, and Felix suspects he’s there even when he’s not officially working. Apparently they grew closer still after the incident with Song. Even when Jisung isn’t with Woojin, he isn’t home. He spends more time in town in a few days than Felix does in a whole Season, if he’s lucky. Not that it effects Felix much at all, his routine seems to be the only one that hasn’t changed. He still wakes up at dawn and works until his daily duties are done, visiting Haven when he has the time, and coming home to make dinner when it’s his turn.

The only thing Jisung’s time in town has changed is the number of coins and odd trinkets in the loose floorboard under his sleep mat. It’s supposed to be a secret, but Felix discovered it a few Seasons back. So far he’s been fine with pretending he isn’t aware of its existence, and the troubling connotations that come with it, but as the collection continues to grow bigger, he begins to wonder more seriously if he should say something to Jisung about it. Though he wonders if he really wants to hear any answer his brother gives.

In the end, Felix stays silent, and life continues on. He focuses on maintaining the balance between new crops and crops nearing their harvest time, and Jisung’s collection slips back into the far corner of his brain where it has been in since the day he discovered it.

By the time the Rounds come again, Jisung’s secrets are the least of Felix’s worries. Their father is bedridden with high fevers and strong coughs and Felix has found himself in charge of not only tending all his family’s crops, but also standing in as head of the house when the soldiers come around for collections. He heads into town early with Jisung after leaving a pot of soup in the kitchen and water by his father’s sleep mat.

“Are you ready for this?” Jisung asks him. “I know you usually sit the Rounds out in the fields.”

Felix swallows and nods, he knows everything he has to do, and he’s seen his father do it before. He’ll be fine as long as he does everything right. “Yeah, I’ll be okay. Besides, you’re the one who had trouble with the colonel last time, not me.”

“I was just in the wrong place at the wrong time. And he was yelling at Woojin anyway, not me.” Then, softer, because Felix has always been bad at hiding his fears: “Just fly under the radar and get it over with quickly. Everything will be fine.”

Felix cracks a smile. “Thanks. You should stay low too after last time.”

Jisung laughs and pats Felix’s shoulder in farewell. “Oh, always. See you later.”

“See you,” Felix says, waving him off and turning towards town while Jisung heads off towards Woojin’s workshop. The trip to the Registry doesn’t take long after that, and Felix falls in line behind the rest of the early birds. It’s mostly other workers from the fields - they’re used to waking up at the crack of dawn already - so Felix chats politely and explains that his father is sick when asked why he’s there for the registration instead. Soon it’s his turn to log all his yields for the Cycle, and he writes carefully all that’s been harvested thus far, hands it over for the calculation, and waits a moment while the Clerk compares the lists brought by the soldiers the night before. The older man deliberates a moment, before striking both pages and writing an order form for Felix, who doesn’t so much as glance at it until he’s well out of the crowded building. He’s on the path home when he examines the slip, which glows golden under the early morning sun. He scoffs at the high numbers, but their stocks are strong enough to take the hit, and he certainly doesn’t want to cause any trouble this time around, so he heads home without complaint and starts preparing for the Collections.

It’s well past midday by the time the soldier’s show up on his land. Felix nods politely to one he recognizes only from last Cycle, and hands him the Clerks order. It’s in Song’s hands in a matter of moments, and then the man himself is pushing past Felix to look over the sacks and baskets he has leaned up against the side of his house.

“Is this all?” Song asks, his voice grating and clearly underwhelmed.

“That’s everything the Clerk ordered. You have the slip.” Felix says, more defensively than he intends.

Song turns his head quickly, and Felix swears he hears a faint sigh from one of the soldiers. “I’m very aware, boy,” he practically spits. Regret pours over Felix like icy water. “But, your fields are quite large and this burlap is, quite frankly, disappointing. If everyone contributed so little during the Rounds, the Capital would certainly have something to say about it.”

Felix hesitates. “The Capital collects fair portions of all our yields each Cycle. We’ve been focused mainly on planting for the Spring, and Autumn harvest hasn’t started yet, so this is all we have right now. Next Cycle will produce much more,” he pauses, unsure of whether he should continue on, then - against his better judgement - does. “This is how it usually goes.”

Song’s eyes flash and Felix wishes right away he hadn’t said anything more. “Hwang,” he snaps, “load all this up.”

The soldier Felix had greeted snaps to attention and sets to work, while Song fixes his attention back on Felix. “I’ll be back next Cycle, boy. I hope you’re right about the size of your harvest.”

The soldiers move onto their next stop and Felix sinks to the ground, hitting himself for not being smarter about what he said. Song and his men are long gone before Felix picks himself up and heads inside to check on his father and make sure he’s still eating and drinking enough. Once he’s put his father back to bed, he heads out to check on the fields again. All is well, but his stomach still turns, uneasy. Eventually, he can’t stand it anymore, and leaves the farmland behind to find Jisung, wherever he is.

 

At the same time that Felix goes to the Registry, Jisung goes to Woojin’s. But he doesn’t stay there long; soon he finds himself approaching the soldiers’ encampment. He knows that he shouldn’t do something so risky right on the heels of last Cycle’s Rounds, but his father is sick and the village doctor thinks it might be bad enough to send him to the Capital, so Jisung uses that to justify what he’s about to do. That is: steal from the military. It’s a more daunting task than the quick pickpocketing he’s used to, but once the thought occurred to him, he couldn’t shake it. He knows he can’t take money, or anything else that would be too easily missed, but it should be good enough to win him something decent at Seungmin’s booth. He creeps around the edge of the camp, trying to figure out how much time he has left before the group will be back from their day’s Collections. He also makes careful note of the soldier left behind to guard their things - she’s currently dislodging her knife from where she’d thrown it into a tree. Deciding to take his chance, Jisung slips out of the underbrush and approaches the backs of the tents in a low crouch. He rummages through a few bedrolls and odd keepsakes he doesn’t have much interest in before he finally finds something that fits the bill.

He pockets the silver ring and slips back into the underbrush, then, when he’s far enough from the encampment that he won’t be spotted, he jogs back into town. From town, he considers heading back to Woojin’s, but he isn’t in the mood for any questions about where he wandered off to, so he turns down the dirt road towards his home and all the farmland beyond it. He’s barely walked twenty paces when he runs into a very disgruntled Felix.

“Jisung! I was just heading out to look for you. Are you on your way back from Woojin’s?”

Jisung nods, an excuse forming in his head, and Felix continues on.

“Have the Collections already been by there? It seemed like the colonel was already in a bad mood when he came by our place.”

“I think they’ll go by tomorrow,” Jisung muses. “He’s usually one of the last stops. Why? Did something happen with the colonel?”

Felix grimaces. “I might have said a little too much and he might be pretty mad about it.”

A groan sneaks out of Jisung before he can stifle it, and it earns him an indignant look from his brother. “So, I guess I should go back and warn Woojin to lay low when the Collections come by. The colonel’s head might actually pop off if they fight again. Hopefully _he_ actually listens to me.”

Felix opens his mouth to protest to the dig, but Jisung interrupts before he can. “I actually was on my way home to see how Dad’s doing, but I wanted to trade something at Seungmin’s before he closes up for the night, do you think you could do it for me instead? I won’t make it there in time if I go to Dad and back to Woojin’s.”

A flicker of suspicion crosses Felix’s face, but it turns quickly to exasperation so Jisung chalks it up to his brother’s annoyance at being asked to go into town for the second time that day.

Felix sighs after a moment, defeated. “I guess”

Jisung grins. “Thanks, Felix,” he says, pulling the ring out of his pocket and passing it to Felix. “I got this for one of my runs - it was pretty out of the way so I guess that’s why. Anyway, remember not to take the first offer Seungmin gives you.” He pats Felix’s shoulder, thanks him again, and then heads off towards their house.

 

Felix, now alone again, and with a ring that weighs a little too heavy on his conscious, mourns his bad luck and trudges into town. He busies himself with kicking stray rocks on the path in front of him, but it does little to quell the rising tide of bad thoughts within his head. On top of his worries about his father’s condition, as well as Colonel Song’s ever worsening mood, he’s also becoming increasingly concerned about the origin of the ring clenched inside his fist. He doesn’t think Jisung would flat out lie to him about anything, but he’d been very vague about how he’d ended up with the ring. Felix would love to think the best of his brother, but the loose floorboard under Jisung’s sleep mat jumps to mind, and a sour feeling turns his stomach. He pushes his doubts to the back of his mind after a short time, though; he trusts Jisung not to do anything too terrible or stupid, and if he’s being honest, with their father out of commission, a little extra money wouldn’t hurt.

By the time he gets to Seungmin’s cart, he’s focused only on getting the most for the thick, silver ring still held tightly in his hand. He’s not exactly sure if he should pretend to peruse the display for a moment before he gets to business, but it gives him a moment to think about what he should say. No one else seems to be around, so he has Seungmin’s full attention when he produces the ring.

Seungmin eyes it for a moment. “What do you want for it?”

Felix turns the ring over in his hand. “I’d say it’s worth at least its weight in silver, and then some.”

Seungmin looks like he’s holding back a sigh and Felix wishes it was Jisung dealing with the merchant and not him. “I’ll give you seven silver pieces.”

 _“Remember not to take the first offer.”_ Jisung’s voice from earlier rings through his head, and Felix stops himself from agreeing right away to end the interaction. “It’s worth twelve at least,” he says a moment later, shooting a higher than he wants since he knows they won’t come to an agreement right away.

They bounce back and forth for what feels like an eternity to Felix before they settle on nine silver pieces and one bronze. Felix leaves the ring with Seungmin and walks home with the payment in his pocket.

Jisung isn’t home when Felix gets there, so he leaves the money in a little pile on his sleep mat and heads into the kitchen to make dinner. The sky is a deep red when he finishes, and he brings some to his father, along with a new glass of water, brings the used dishes back with him, and then watches the sun dip behind the horizon while he waits for Jisung to get home so they can eat together.

“Beautiful sunset.”

Felix jumps. Apparently Jisung had arrived without him realizing. “You know the saying, don’t you? Red sky at night, sailor’s delight. Red sky at morning, sailors take warning.”

“Yeah? Who told you that? We don’t know any sailors, right?” Felix asks once he’s recovered.

“Seungmin, actually.” Jisung says brightly, sitting down next to Felix in the grass. “He’s from Aramoor on the west coast, so he knows all about that stuff.”

“I didn’t realize you knew each other that well.” Felix mutters, then after a moment’s thought, he speaks louder. “That’s about the ocean though, right? We’re not even sailors.”

Jisung shrugs, unperturbed. “I just think it’s a nice saying, especially on nights like this.”

“Whatever you say. We should head inside before dinner gets cold. Dad already ate, I think he’s probably asleep now.”

They eat in easy bursts of talking about their days and contented silence, and Felix sleeps well, despite his earlier worries. He doesn’t wake up until the sun is well past the horizon, missing the rich red hues of morning, and any free time he might have had before he has to get to work.

The day drags by, everything sluggish in the humid heat that won’t fade away for at least another Cycle. Felix can’t complain though; he hasn’t had to go into town at all, and Jisung isn’t home to delegate any of his trips to him. And Felix may be stuck pulling weeds and digging his trenches a little deeper and a little wider to allow for more water flow to the plants, but if Jisung isn’t out running errands again, then he’s stuck inside Woojin’s workshop where the fire rages all day long, and at least Felix gets the relief of an occasional gust of wind rather than being trapped in a small room with poor ventilation.

After a break from the sun and leftovers from the night before, Felix realizes he doesn’t have the long rake he needs to prep the snow lettuce fields. With a deep sigh, he remembers that he’d lent it out to Minjun more than a few days ago. It’s not a very big deal, but it means he has to trek all the way to the eastern border of the town’s farmland, and won’t be able to do anything else for the rest of the day. So, with more than a little regret, he leaves a note for Jisung, letting his brother know where he’ll be if he gets home after Jisung.

Felix tries his best to enjoy his newfound free time, but all he can think about is everything that still needs to be done before the next rainfall in order for the farm to produce adequate stocks for next Cycle’s Rounds. The image of Colonel Song’s angry face hasn’t left his mind, and he would love not to find out what happens when a man that powerful really loses it. He tells himself the next Cycle will be good for him, for his father and brother and for their farm, and then forces his thoughts to wander elsewhere.

It’s nearing dusk by the time he makes it to Minjun’s place, but the time isn’t his biggest worry when he finds that no one is home, and therefore, no one is able to unlock the tool shed so Felix can get his long rake back. Felix almost laughs at his misfortune, but, he thinks, at least the day is almost over now and it can’t possibly get any worse. He decides he’ll send Jisung tomorrow to see if they’re back, and turns to go back the way he came.

On instinct, his feet almost take him down a detour that will lead him to Haven, and as much as he’d love to go there, he has to get home to Jisung and their father, so he corrects himself and continues forward. It isn’t until he reaches the crossroads where the farmer’s path branches off towards town that he starts to hear voices too low to be shouts, but distinct enough that there must be some commotion near town. He almost veers towards it, but it will be pitch black out by the time he gets home if he does that, so he keeps on the path and doesn’t think much of it until the noise doesn’t fade away, even with the increasing distance between him and the town. It doesn’t take him long to realize that it’s because whoever is responsible for the disruption is also on the path, just a little farther back than he is. He ignores it as long as he can, but soon the voices get close enough for him to recognize one of them; it’s Colonel Song. Felix assumes most of his troops are with him, but he doesn’t turn around to check, and instead speeds up his pace, hoping they won’t notice him in the growing dark. He’s only a few plots away from home when his hope runs out.

“Hey! You, on the path, stop a minute.” Song’s voice rings out, and Felix’s whole body slumps. He has a nagging suspicion this won’t be a friendly chat with the colonel and his troops.

He feels the light from both a lamp and a torch hit his back, but doesn’t turn until he hears their boots come to a stop just shy of where he’s standing. The minute he does, he regrets it almost immediately. The Colonel’s face shifts when he recognizes Felix, and the expression sets off half a dozen alarm bells in Felix’s head. The colonel reaches into his pocket and Felix’s stomach sinks, but when Song’s hand reappears and Felix sees what he’s holding, his stomach drops all the way to his feet.

“You don’t happen to recognize this, do you, boy?” The Colonel asks in a voice that suggests he already knows the answer. Felix is sure the the soldiers can read it clear as day on his face; he certainly does recognize the ring in the colonel’s hand, and his worries about its origins come flooding back in a wave that almost drowns him. When he doesn’t answer, because his throat is suddenly made of sandpaper, the colonel grins like a wolf about to sink its teeth into fresh prey. “I’ll take that as a yes,” he says in a voice that screams at Felix to turn and run. “That’s very interesting. You see, we were just on our way back to camp when one of my men stopped at that merchant’s cart and asked why his ring was on display there. He even checked the inside to see if it had the same markings, and what do you know? It was a match. That merchant said he got it from one of the farm boys, and you just happen to fit his description to a tee. Care to tell me why, exactly, you had a soldier’s ring? Or why you pawned it off to some poor excuse of a man from the coast?”

Again, Felix doesn’t answer. He doesn’t think it will change the outcome he’s already dreading. The grin drops off the colonel’s face and Felix feels his whole body tense up, waiting for whatever confrontation he’s about to be a part of.

“Do you know what the punishment is for thieves at the Capital?” Song doesn’t wait for an answer. He turns to toss the ring to one of his men, and when he faces Felix again, his eyes are bright with a kind of furious hunger Felix has never seen before, even in wild animals. His blood runs cold just before the first blow.

He expects it, but it still sends him stumbling backwards, head spinning. The second one is worse, and he’s still seeing stars when the third one lands. Then he’s on the ground, a kick from the colonel’s steel toed boots sending white hot bursts of pain screaming through his bones. He thinks it might have hit ribs, but he’s too overwhelmed to focus on that. He feels arms tug him back up from the ground, and Song lands another blow to his cheek once he’s properly restrained. His face is burning, there’s blood in his mouth and dripping down his forehead, but his eyes, wide with fear, remain fixed on the Colonel.

He pulls back for another swing, a dark, crazed look on his face, which flickers dangerously in the firelight, and Felix realizes he doesn’t plan on stopping any time soon. He thinks he hears yelling, perhaps his own, but the rushing of blood in his ears drowns everything else out. Song prepares to strike again, and there’s not a trace of mercy anywhere in his eyes. Felix tries to figure out how he’s going to escape before the colonel really tries to beat him to death, but his head is swimming and he can’t think straight. He braces for the next blow, but it doesn’t come. One of Song’s men has grabbed his arms and pulled him away from Felix. The colonel’s rage turns on his own soldier, and the hands holding Felix up loosen in surprise. Felix tears himself free and the world spins around him, but he doesn’t waste any time. He runs away as fast as he can.

He gets maybe fifty strides in before Song and his men realize he isn’t there anymore, but it’s all the lead he needs to get into the cover of the Deepwoods before them. If it was dark outside, it’s completely black within the woods, where not even the silver sliver of moon can illuminate the ground through the thick canopy of leaves. Felix’s feet carry him on memory alone, and though his head feels like it’s made entirely of stone and he stumbles on every fallen branch in his path, he still has a distinct advantage over the soldiers who have never set foot in the woods. He loses one of his sandals in a dip in the ground and his shirt tears on the low-hanging arms of trees, but he pushes forward. Despite all his best efforts though, Song and his men are still crashing through the forest behind him. It isn’t until he sees faint light ahead of him that he realizes, too late, that he’s running directly towards Haven. He panics; he can’t lead them there. When he bursts out of the cover of the trees, he stumbles, because suddenly his feet don’t know where to take him, but the shouts are getting louder, so he moves forward on fear and adrenaline alone. The thick weeds catch at his lags when he tries to cut through where he hasn’t before, and his body is screaming for him to stop moving, but he doesn't have enough control to even keep his balance anymore. He staggers a few paces, ripping his ankle free, but twisting it painfully in the process, and throwing himself completely off-kilter. He falls forward through familiar thorn bushes, every inch of his skin lighting up in shallow cutting pain, and knocks his head against the ground.

As if he’s submerged in the stream again, he sees blurry bodies appear and fire wave in the air on the other side of the thickets, and hears their frustrated shouts as if through a shield of water. Then they turn and run parallel to the Deadwoods, leaving him behind, undiscovered.

Frozen and entirely drained of any strength the adrenaline had given him, Felix finally becomes fully aware of the true extent of his injuries. He feels so much pain rush back into his body that he shakes despite the summer air. Then the exhaustion hits and Felix can’t keep his eyes open a second longer. Just as he’s on the verge of passing out, he thinks he hears a voice whisper his name, but he’s never seen anyone else here in the Deadwoods before, so he must be imagining things. It must be a dream, he thinks as he loses consciousness completely. It must be.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> felix: so I've made the decision to trust my dear brother jisung  
> also felix, literally one day later: a terrible decision, really


	3. III. Seungmin and the Terrible, Horrible, No Good, Very Bad Days

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> It's ya boi, Seungmin

What the Capital really needs, Seungmin thinks every time he comes here, is a road specifically for merchants. As it is, there’s only one way in and out of the Capital and beyond that a single, wide road that leads to the market. Seungmin knows the one-entrance-one-exit thing is a matter of safety, but it’s so inefficient. There’s far too much traffic even if you think only about the people on foot. Add carts and horses to the mix and, well, you’ve got the mess that is the gate. Seungmin is only glad that the guards are rather lenient to familiar faces, else they’d search each and every person that passed through and only delay everything further. Technically, Seungmin is pretty sure that they’re still supposed to, but he isn’t one to complain about rule bending, especially rule bending in his favor. 

When Seungmin finally reaches the guards stationed just in front of the gate, he reaches into his pocket and carefully unfolds his merchant certification. They’re required in order to trade in the Capital - something about reputability - and Seungmin’s seen even old merchants, ones who’ve clearly been coming to the Capital for longer than Seungmin has been alive, be turned away for not having them. So he’s sure he always does, because Seungmin really needs to be able to get there. Most of the villages he passes through are small, or have no real need for his items, but the Capital is full of opportunity. And what is probably Seungmin’s biggest profit comes from the commission he gets here. The guard gives Seungmin’s papers a lazy once over and beckons him in. “You should hurry if you want to make the rush,” he drawls and Seungmin urges his horse on as fast as is possible without trampling anyone in the perpetually busy street. The rush is by far the most ideal time to sell; it’s when most of the workers get off for the day and are able to come to the Market. 

Seungmin barely has a chance to leave his horse in the square’s stables and set up a booth before the bell peals and signals the end of the average worker’s shift. Some employers have their own rules, but the city standard follows the bell. At first they slowly trickle out from shops in the direct vicinity from the square, but more and more people flow into the market as time passes and those who work farther away have a chance to arrive. Seungmin’s wares, specifically the trinkets he brings from Aramoor, always gather a large crowd. His district is one of the few to have a village on the sea, and Seungmin is fortunate to call that specific village home. Capital dwellers always like what he brings from there, probably because the materials and styles are so different to their own and there is a certain rarity to his items. He’d been rather surprised the first time he’d seen a buyer stare at an abalone hairpin with such wonder; the novelty had never existed for him since he’d been surrounded by such things since he’d been born. But Seungmin would certainly never discourage someone from thinking his items are rare or exotic. The more demand he has, the more money he can make and that is always his goal. 

Seungmin is smiling brightly at a chatty woman who can’t stop talking about how lovely the necklace she’s just purchased will look on her daughter when he sees a startling face in the crowd just a few feet away from his booth. The woman’s chattering fades to the background as Seungmin blinks and tries to pretend that he doesn’t recognize the profile. He feels as though he’s underwater: everything is muffled and seems to swim past his vision. Seungmin belatedly becomes aware of a “Goodbye, dear” from the woman and waves at her receding form. Perhaps he’s wrong. Perhaps it’s just a lookalike. 

“Hyunjin?” He calls tentatively, not sure if he wants it to be his friend of days long past or a random stranger. The face turns directly towards him and Seungmin realizes very quickly that he wishes it was just a random stranger. Hyunjin has changed in the two Turns they haven’t seen each other - he’s taller and broader and his face is sharper - but he’s quite obviously the Hwang Hyunjin Seungmin grew up with. But while Seungmin is sure he looks shocked or confused, there is barely a flicker of recognition that crosses Hyunjin’s face. And that’s perhaps what’s changed the most; there’s an almost chilling coldness in Hyunjin’s eyes as he looks at Seungmin that is so un-Hyunjin like it scares him. They hadn’t parted on the best of terms, but did Hyunjin really hate him enough to forget him?

“Hwang, let’s go!” Hyunjin turns away from Seungmin and disappears into the swarm of people, but the unease running through his veins does not cease. He has to get out of here as soon as he can. 

“Sorry, I’m closing up.” His voice comes out shakier than he means it to as a few customers grumble that it’s still too early to close. Seungmin transfers his wares back onto his cart as quickly as he can and harnesses his horse. He usually would be leaving the market soon anyway, but he’s never been in such a rush before. Seungmin tries his best to weave through the still crowded streets, but with a cart it’s nearly impossible and the affronted looks he gets from practically every pedestrian lead him to just giving up and plodding along far slower than he wants to. Nothing in his cart is especially rare or expensive, but he can’t just leave it, as much as he wishes he could. He bought nearly everything in there - and the rest he bartered for - and Seungmin will be damned if he was going to lose his investment. So he stays in his cart and mutters curses about pedestrians under his breath, quietly daring one to get in his way again and test his kindness one more time.

In due time, Seungmin does, finally, reach the courtyard of the military base. The sun bathes it in a soft, golden glow and regrettably he realizes that he will have to travel at night if he wants to leave as soon as possible. Seungmin avoids night travel as much as he can, but every hour he spends in this city is another hour he risks bumping back into Hyunjin. The courtyard is empty, as it so often is since the soldiers have far better places to hang about when they have the time, so Seungmin feels safe leaving his cart unattended. He ties his horse to one of the posts and goes in search of Minho, who sometimes is in his office - which Seungmin knows how to find so he always stops there first- and sometimes isn’t. Seungmin sort of just wanders around until he finds him when that happens. 

There’s low voices coming from Minho’s office when Seungmin approaches and he makes a safe assumption that Minho is in there. He takes a seat on the bench outside the office and tries not to listen to the conversation, though he’s not sure he could hear it unless he was in the room. Must be something important then. Seungmin’s curiosity is piqued now. Minho isn’t the type to brazenly tell him what’s happening, but Seungmin thinks he might be able to weasel it out of him if he tries.

“I’ll do my best, sir, but I’m really counting on you.” Seungmin perks up and stands as the voice becomes louder and the door handle turns. He doesn’t know the soldier who walks by him and avoids looking at them entirely. He’s never liked the army. The soldier has left the door ajar, obviously for Seungmin, and he approaches quietly and peers around it. He doesn’t mean to spy on Minho, but it’s become a bit of a habit. The prince is leafing through some papers, a frown settled on his face and his ever present air of seriousness. He pauses in his leafing to look directly at Seungmin.

“I can see you, you know,” he sighs. “Come in.” Seungmin enters and shuts the door with a click as Minho pulls a fresh piece of paper out of his desk. “I actually wasn’t expecting you until tomorrow, but I can just write down the order now, I suppose.”

“Yeah, sorry about that,” Seungmin fiddles with his shirt hem. “I’m looking to leave tonight so if I could get some help loading the ore that’d be much appreciated.”

“What’s your rush?” Minho’s eyes search Seungmin’s face. “You looked spooked. Are you okay?”

“I’m fine.” He says, perhaps a bit too fast. “Something’s come up and I’ve got to leave early is all.” Minho doesn’t press it and for that Seungmin is eternally grateful. Nonetheless, he tries to change the topic into something light. “So am I supposed to call you General Lee when I’m here or…?”

“For the last time, Seungmin, I only want my titles used when there are other people around,” Minho narrows his eyes briefly at Seungmin. “And the only one you should ever have reason to use is General, if I can help it.”

“What did the prince title ever do to you?” Minho’s so vehement about not using that title for reasons he’ll never reveal to Seungmin. Seungmin knows plenty of people who’d kill for it, but it seems as though Minho would give his away if he could.

“It’s complicated.” Minho sticks to the same answer he always gives Seungmin. In all honesty, Seungmin knows he’ll probably never get an answer. He and Minho aren’t friends, exactly. They don’t hate each other either, but their relationship is mostly a business one. They trust each other to an extent, but these brief small talk sessions are the closest they ever get to a real conversation. With a flourish, Minho puts down his pen and spins the paper he’s been writing on towards Seungmin. “This order’s bigger than the previous ones so you can tell the blacksmith not to worry if it takes longer. These are mostly for new recruits and it’ll be a while before any of them should even think about touching a sword.” Seungmin scans the list: 13 janggeom, 30 geom, 50 hwando, and 50 unggeom. He doesn’t know much about swords and though Woojin has told him the differences between them all, he still couldn’t differentiate them if you asked him to. What’s the point of all these different types anyway? Minho probably knows, but Seungmin isn’t going to get him started on that topic. Something tells him the answer would be way too in depth for his purposes. Minho stands and heads for the door, so Seungmin does the same. “I’ll help you with the ore. The usual crew got off earlier and I don’t have anyone on standby since I didn’t know you were coming today.”

“You do physical labor?” Seungmin asks lightly as the two head back to the courtyard. Minho rolls his eyes at him, but Seungmin can see he’s more relaxed now. 

“I don’t only do paperwork, Seungmin. I  _ can _ actually do everything any other soldier can,” he says with a huff, “Regardless of whether I’m given the opportunity to.” Seungmin sees as much as the two of them load the ore onto his cart. The task is completed by the time that the moon has climbed into the sky and Seungmin feels bad for keeping Minho so late, but the prince waves him off and tells him that it isn’t a problem. Seungmin leads his horse back over and says his goodbyes to Minho as he harnesses the mare back up. Then he’s off, at a much faster pace than he was earlier since the streets are practically empty. He waves to the yawning guards as he passes through the gate and lets out a breath of relief at finally having left the Capital. The tight feeling in his chest subsides and Seungmin can go back to not thinking about Hyunjin and worrying about seeing him again. His only regret about leaving early is the fact that he’ll have to wait until he reaches the next town before he sleeps, but lost sleep is a price he’s willing to pay at this point.

 

 

* * *

 

Seungmin arrives in District Nine the morning of his seventh day of travel. The weight of the ore has slowed him down substantially, but all in all he’s still made pretty good time. The sun has just cracked the horizon and the town is startlingly quiet. Since he usually leaves the Capital in the morning, he’s used to arriving in the evening, when the town is still rather busy. Now, it’s empty save a few unfortunate farm hands that live in the inn and are staggering off to work. Seungmin hopes that Woojin will be awake, though he isn’t hopeful. At least he lives at the very edge of the town which, if Seungmin takes his time, he shouldn’t reach until the sun is at a much more respectable point in the sky. His mare’s hoofbeats ring out against the cobblestones, by far the loudest sound in the empty square, and he feels the workers’ eyes follow him as he makes his way past store fronts and inns. Seungmin tenses under their scrutiny, feeling more like a caged animal than a merchant. He mentally notes to  _ never _ come here before the sun is up again. After what feels like an eternity, he pulls out of the town center and into the graveled side streets that lead out towards Woojin’s forge. The gravel is quieter than the cobblestones, to Seungmin’s neverending relief, and these streets are entirely vacant. The occasionally bird chirp can be heard, but aside from his cart there is only silence. If Seungmin were the type, he’d be happy to alone with his thoughts, but Seungmin is certainly not and there’s nothing he’d like less. Woojin’s forge suddenly seems very far away. He watches the shadows of the houses grow longer and the sky gradually brighten to a pale, pale blue. More and more shutters begin to open and yawning shop workers head towards the town center to start their work days. A few look at him with raised brows. Most people want to go towards the square, not away.

Having tied his horse to a fence post so she won’t leave - though Seungmin doubts she would anyway - he stands in front of Woojin’s door and knocks loudly, “Woojin!” There’s no answer, but Seungmin is sure he’s home. “Woojin!” He tries again, louder this time. Still nothing. Seungmin takes in a breath, ready to scream at the very top of his lungs, when the door suddenly opens and he very nearly falls onto a mildly irritated Woojin. 

“I heard you the first time,” Woojin steps back and lets Seungmin in, “No need to wake up the whole neighborhood.”

“Your closest neighbor can hardly hear.”

“It’s just a figure of speech, Seungmin,” Woojin heads over to the fire to poke at a piece of bacon. He looks back to Seungmin, “I’d offer you some, but I only made one; I wasn’t expecting you today,” he scratches his head and glances over to his table, “There’s some bread if you want it and there might be some stew from last night.” Woojin grabs a plate and spears his bacon from pan, “Other than that there’s not much food here.” Seungmin shakes his head.

“I’ll get something at the inn later.” 

“Suit yourself,” Woojin shrugs and sits down at the table. Seungmin stands awkwardly by the door, unsure of whether he should wait for Woojin to finish his breakfast or not. Woojin pauses in the middle of pulling the bread over to himself and blink at Seungmin, “You  _ can _ sit, you know.” He points to the empty chair across from him and Seungmin remembers thinking how odd it was that someone who lived alone had a second chair ready at his table the first time he’d made the trip here. Woojin had explained that he had an apprentice of sorts and Seungmin was thankful for the chair regardless as Woojin was kind enough to make him dinner when he came. Seungmin sits as he’s told and waits patiently. “I have one sword left to finish and that should be done tonight,”  Woojin says. 

“Then you won’t be pleased to see the order I’ve brought for you,” Seungmin reaches into his pocket and flattens the crumpled paper so Woojin can read it. There’s a brief silence while he scans the paper and Seungmin can see him figuring out exactly how to react to this massive order.

“At least I’ll get paid a lot for it,” he decides to look on the bright side, it seems. Maybe Seungmin should try that some time. “Why does the prince want so many?”

“There’s a bunch of new recruits apparently.”

“Well, I won’t be able to finish this by the time you get back.”

“Minho said not to worry about it.” Seungmin can see the disapproval in Woojin’s eyes, “What?”

“It’s not right to call him by his first name,” Woojin sighs. He and Seungmin have talked about this before as the two of them have very different opinions on the matter. 

“It’s not like anyone’s here to care,” Seungmin rolls his eyes but doesn’t try to argue further. Somehow Woojin always wins. “You wanna help me unload all the ore?” 

“As if you could do it yourself,” Woojin snorts, shoveling the last bit of his food into his mouth and standing. Seungmin draws back in offense.

“I’m not that weak.”

“Sure you’re not, kid,” Woojin ruffles Seungmin’s hair on his way to the door. 

“We’ve talked about this before; I’m not a kid,” Seungmin complains. “I’m not even smaller than you.” Woojin laughs and shrugs, starting to untie the ropes securing the boxes of ore to the cart.

“Still a kid though.”

“I am  _ not _ !” Seungmin glares at Woojin indignantly over the top of the box they’re carrying to the forge.

“Whatever you say,” Woojin pauses and then grins mischievously, “kid.”

“Woojin!”

Seungmin leaves Woojin’s just before noon, absolutely famished. He makes his way back to the town center and makes notes of a place to set up shop. He thinks he’ll wait until evening to set up his booth as the square is busiest then. The inn is mostly empty at this hour; it’s just Seungmin and a small group of older villagers. Though he can’t see them, having chosen to sit in the counter while they’re at a table behind him, he can hear them well enough and has had half an ear tuned on them while he has his stew. Based on their  _ thrilling _ conversation about the weather and how it’ll affect the crops, they’re former farmers. Though, Seungmin is used to conversations like this. He’ll make no claim that fishermen aren’t some of the most boring people to listen to. At least they have cool stories sometimes. What do farmers tell stories about? That insane summer when their cabbages were gigantic? Seungmin’s sure that those sorts of stories are  _ fascinating _ . It isn’t the thought of such tales, nor the weather, that has Seungmin choking on his last spoonful of stew though.

He really hopes that he’s misheard. What do they mean that the Rounds are starting tomorrow? The group has moved on from the topic, having only mentioned it in a passing comment, but Seungmin is still frozen, gripping his spoon so tightly his hand his shaking. That can’t be right. Seungmin has not seen a Round in five turns, either shutting himself in his home and refusing to leave until the coast was clear, or simply making his route to avoid to them all together. It’s that damn ore… he’s two days later than he would normally be. Those two crucial days. He supposes he could always just leave now.  _ Except he can’t. _ Seungmin remembers the swords he’s supposed to pick up tomorrow and it takes everything in his power to scream in frustration. No, no. For once Seungmin is not going to lose his cool over this. He’ll be fine. He’ll just keep his head down and do as the soldiers say. No trouble will be had from Kim Seungmin. Everything will turn out fine. He’d rather not think of what will happen if it doesn’t.

 

The peace of District Nine is always appreciated by Seungmin. It means slower business, but considering how many districts are so busy he can hardly breathe while he’s at his booth, he’ll take it in exchange for a bit of quiet time. With nothing better to do, he flips through the journal he uses for his bookkeeping and rechecks his profits and losses for the dozenth time, making sure everything is in order. He looks up when he sees movement in front of him, the first he’s had in a while, but it is still only mid afternoon. A familiar looking farm boy looks at his display, one hand in a fist and clutching something. Seungmin tries to place the face, but is drawing a blank until the boy makes eye contact with him and he sees his face more clearly. Jisung, a frequent customer of Seungmin’s, has brought him along a few times. His name is Felix, assuming Seungmin has in fact remembered correctly. Felix opens his hand and a silver ring is now presented above the table between the two of them. Seungmin looks it over, taking note of it’s rather nice crafting. “What do you want for it?”

“I’d say it’s worth at least its weight in silver, and then some,” Felix turns the ring in his hand. Seungmin raises a brow at him and resists sighing.

“I’ll give you seven silver pieces.” He won’t be able to sell it for as much as it’s worth since he rest of the villages he’s stopping in don’t have much use for rings like this, or would prefer to spend their money on other, more practical things. He might be able to sell it for a good price in the Capital, but it’ll be weeks until he gets back there and people there have plenty of shops that they can buy rings like this in. Actually, the ring looks very much like one he’d find in the Capital, which Seungmin thinks is a bit odd, but he doesn’t think much about it.

“It’s worth twelve at least,” Felix shoots back. So Jisung isn’t the only one who knows how to bargain.

“I’ll give you eight silver and five bronze.”

“Ten silver even,” Felix folds his arms.

“Nine silver and that’s my final offer,” Seungmin maintains eye contact with Felix. He’s very confident in his negotiations, never one to back down. This is his area of expertise, his comfort zone, and even the most terrifying customer could not intimidate him.

“Add a bronze piece to it and the ring is yours.”

“Done,” Seungmin reaches into the pouch beside his hip and counts out the coins. He places them of the table, but keeps his hand over them until Felix has dropped the ring. Then he retracts his hand from the money and takes the ring, while Felix takes his payment. “Pleasure doing business with you.” Seungmin waves to Felix as he begins to head home and quickly makes a note of the exchange in his book. He examines the ring more closely and sees more intricacies than he had been able to before. Maybe it actually will catch the fancy of someone in the Capital. He hums in thought, mulling over a price in his head and settles on 13 silver pieces and 4 bronze. Seungmin’s seen shops in the Capital sell rings like this for almost twice as much, but he caters a different audience. Besides, 25 pieces of silver for a ring like this is a bit of a rip off when it’s worth 18 at the most, but that’s none of his business. 

The sun is just dipping below the horizon when the thundering of hoofbeats can be heard and everyone in the square, Seungmin included, looks up towards the entrance of the district towards the noise. With a gulp, Seungmin realizes that it’s the Round. His heart tightens in his chest and his throat starts to close and panic rises up, but he swallows it down and forces himself to stay put and the soldiers make their way through the town, though he does keep his eyes down and away from them. The clatter of horseshoes on cobblestones gradually subsides until every soldier has passed into the side streets. Whispers around him inform him that they’ll camp for the night and begin their actual Round tomorrow. His luck really couldn’t be worse, could it?

  
  


Oh, it could. Seungmin is not fortunate enough to be able to leave before he’s spotted by the soldiers, but he supposes that if he had attempted to leave then he would seem suspicious. So really, this situation was lose-lose from the start. Seungmin stands with his back pressed to the side of his cart as the colonel leading the Round towers over him, scrutinizing him as though he’s stolen every single item on his cart. Two of the other men are looking through his inventory and comparing it to the book he keeps, making sure there are no discrepancies, and the others are gathered behind the colonel. One of them, Seungmin realized quickly, is Hyunjin, but Hyunjin is not even facing him and is staring at a tree with a sudden, intense interest. In other words, he’s ignoring Seungmin even more than before. That definitely doesn’t hurt Seungmin at all. While he’d love to curse out Hyunjin right here and right now, that isn’t happening. Not when he’s barely holding himself together in front of this colonel. He’s just happy the man can’t smell fear.

“Where are you going?” His voice sounds as unkind as he looks and Seungmin knows that this is type of soldier you listen to without question and obey.

“I’m going to the blacksmith’s. I’m picking up a weapons order for the Second Prince.” He can see the frown forming on the colonel’s face and quickly adds, “I have a letter authorizing me to do so, if you wish to see it.” The colonel shakes his head and deflates a bit, having lost a reason to be angry. Seungmin can almost breathe again. Almost. A sudden shout from one of the soldiers searching his cart has the colonel’s attention instantly and Seungmin winces. There’s no way this is good.

“Sir, this is my ring!” Seungmin’s heart drops at that. He knew it was too good to be true. Why hadn’t he questioned Felix about it? The colonel turns on Seungmin with renewed fire in his eyes.

“Now, why would a merchant like you have a soldier’s ring? Perhaps you, I don’t know, stole it?” His voice is venomous and Seungmin practically cowers before him, not even trying to control his shaking now.

“N-no, I got it from o-one of the farm boys. It’s in my b-book and everything.” The colonel’s face is not one of belief. 

“And what would this ‘farm boy,’” he says mockingly, “look like?”

“He’s kind of short, um, brown hair, freckles,” Seungmin doesn’t want to sell out Felix, but he doesn’t want to be in the company of the soldiers for a moment longer than he has to be, and he really does not want more trouble than he’s already having. “I think his farm is somewhere in the southeastern part of the district.”

“Does this boy have a name?” The colonel seems to be warming up to Seungmin’s explanation now that he has someone else to target. Seungmin shakes his head.

“He didn’t leave one when he pawned the ring.” Then, because the colonel narrows his eyes at this, “Most of my clients don’t leave their names; it’s too personal of a deal then.” The colonel finally moves back and Seungmin can let out his breath and move his aching back from the side of the cart. 

“We’ll head to the southeast farms,” the colonel shouts, “keep your eyes peeled for anyone fitting the description.” He glances back to Seungmin. “Don’t leave until we check your cart again tomorrow. Can’t have anymore stolen goods, now can we?” He has a wolfish grin on his face that Seungmin would rather not have directed at him so he just nods. “Wait by the gate at dawn. We will find you there. Move out!” He and the rest of his troop finally leave and Seungmin takes a moment to steady himself. He’s had enough hell today for a lifetime. Not able to find the energy to climb back into his cart, he leads his horse to Woojin’s from the ground. It isn’t even sundown and he’s already ready to sleep for a week to recover from this incident. And he has to deal with the colonel tomorrow morning. Just peachy.

Seungmin thinks that he’s regained control of himself by the time he’s reached Woojin’s, but the second he enters the forge Woojin rushes over, concern flooding his features. “Seungmin, what’s wrong?” He asks, putting a hand on Seungmin’s shoulder.

“Nothing’s wrong. Why would something be wrong?” Seungmin forces a laugh. Woojin furrows his brows at him.

“You don’t look so good. You can tell me what’s-”

“I said nothing’s wrong,” Seungmin cuts him off and shrugs Woojin’s hand away, “I’m fine.” He pushes past Woojin and towards a chair that’s been pulled up to the messy table in the center of the forge. He all but falls into it. “I’m just… tired.” And he is tired, that much is true. The encounter with the colonel has drained him emotionally, but he says it mainly to get Woojin off his back. Woojin wrings his sooty hands on a cloth and stands a few feet away from Seungmin, letting the heavy silence hang in between them long enough for it to make him squirm. 

“You obviously aren’t,” Woojin’s voice is soft and caring, something Seungmin hasn’t heard in many years. He bites his lip and for a moment, just a moment, considers telling Woojin the truth. Then he comes back to his sense and banishes the thought.

“I just don’t like the Rounds is all,” he mutters. Woojin nods and hums in understanding, though Seungmin is positive that he doesn’t understand him. Not fully.

“You’ve met Colonel Song I take it?”

“You could say that,” Seungmin snorts. “He yelled at me, I wanted to die on the spot. Not much of a meeting if you ask me.” If Woojin thinks that this is only about Song, then he’ll let him.

“He’s...” Woojin pauses in search of the words to describe the colonel.

“A piece of shit?” Seungmin suggests under his breath.

“Not what I was going to say, but yes, I suppose so,” Woojin offers Seungmin a small smile. 

“I’m supposed to see him tomorrow morning too.”

“Just listen to him and you’ll be okay.” A reassuring smile is sent Seungmin’s way and he meets it with a halfhearted one.

“I know how to deal with guys like him.” Woojin’s eyebrows shoot up, but Seungmin gives him no time to dwell on it as he abruptly stands. “Help me with the swords, would you Woojin?” 

If dealing with the colonel yesterday had been rough, this morning was even worse. Somehow, that had been him in a good mood. Now, Seungmin can practically feel the fury rolling off him in waves. Thankfully, he’s not spoken a word to Seungmin today, either deeming him not worth his time or not at all invested in this search anymore. Quite frankly, Seungmin doesn’t care what the reason is; he’s just happy he doesn’t have to deal with him. While the soldiers search, the others are waiting on horseback, ready to leave town right when the search is finished. Seungmin’s eyes, for some godforsaken reason, immediately search for Hyunjin and with a twist in his stomach he finds him right beside the colonel. Usually that’s a pretty high honor, but Hyunjin does not look happy. His head is down and his hair is falling in front of his eyes, but most shocking of all is the dark bruise Seungmin can see on his cheek. Suddenly it’s as though they’re 12 again and Seungmin is prepared to rummage through his cupboard for aloe vera and bandages and to scold Hyunjin for getting in another fight. But they aren’t 12, so Seungmin just sighs and directs his gaze elsewhere. Hyunjin chose to join the military and injuries are a part of that; if you ask Seungmin this is his just deserts. 

The soldiers finally give him the all clear and Seungmin can’t say he’s sad to see them go. As they pass by, however, his interest is piqued by the quiet conversation between two them. He can hear something about “can’t believe Song wanted to kill the poor kid” and “it’s harsh but thievery  _ can be  _ punishable by death,” but the two are too far away for him to hear more than that. Seungmin feels sick to his stomach as he realizes that they must be talking about Felix. They  _ killed _ him? More than that,  _ he _ killed him. If Seungmin hadn’t ratted on Felix then they never would have looked for him and he’d be alive right now. The panic begins to rise in Seungmin’s chest.  _ He killed Felix _ . He can’t leave today, he just can’t. Instead, Seungmin tries his best to quell the tears that threaten to spill as he rushes back to his room in the inn and grabs a piece of paper. He has to be able to do something to help, and this is the only thing he can think of.

_ “Prince Minho,” _ He begins.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Seungmin: I ain't dead but I sure wish I was


	4. IV. Fallout

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> me vs. not writing eight thousand suggestive lines into this fucking chapter. I apologize in advance

Jisung wakes up to bright sunlight slanting through thin curtains and squints a moment before rolling over. He looks across the room to Felix’s sleep mat, expecting it to be crumpled and empty - his brother never wakes up later than he does - but though the mat is empty, its blankets are still neat and folded like Jisung had left them the night before. He frowns at the sight, unsettled. He’d seen Felix’s note when he’d gotten home the night before, and had cooked and eaten dinner alone without much worry; if Felix was taking a little too long at Minjun’s place, well, maybe that was a good thing. Maybe it meant his brother had finally gotten brave enough to have a real conversation with Minjun, and Jisung wasn’t going to complain about that..

But that had been last night, when he was still sure Felix would come home. Now, looking at the untouched sleep mat, Jisung is certain Felix never slept in it, and likely never came home. If his brother was a little bolder and a little more outgoing, maybe Jisung could believe that him not coming home for the night meant he was doing something better than sleeping, but that’s just not Felix. So, when Jisung gets out of bed much faster than usual and leaves the house without eating breakfast, combing his hair, or doing up all the buttons on his shirt, it’s because his stomach is turning too much for food, and he’s too worried to care about how he looks.

Minjun’s house is a good distance from his own, but Jisung doesn’t waste any time getting there. He’s slightly out of breath when he reaches the front door, and pauses for a moment to collect himself before knocking. No one answers for a while, and Jisung gets impatient. He raps harder against the wood and waits again. Soon he hears footsteps approaching, and steps back from the door just before it swings open.

Minjun’s mother opens the door, eyes Jisung up and down, and then turns right back around. “Minjun! Someone’s here for you.”

Jisung grimaces as he watches her disappear into the kitchen, and waits for another pair of footsteps to signal Minjun’s arrival. It’s not long before he sees him approach the still open door from the back of the house, and though he appears to still be in sleepwear, he somehow manages to look more put together than Jisung does. When he reaches the door, Jisung has to tilt his head up a bit to see Minjun’s eyes.

“Did Felix come by here last night?” Jisung asks before Minjun can tell him off for showing up so early.

Minjun shrugs. “I don’t know; we weren’t home yet.”

“What do you mean?” Jisung asks, frowning.

“I mean we were still on our way back from District Seven. We spent the last few days there visiting family,” he explains. “Why?”

Jisung barely registers the question, trying to figure out what to do now that his only lead is dead. After a moment of silence, Minjun coughs a little, and Jisung jumps back to reality. “Oh, uh . . . last night Felix left a note saying he was coming over hear to get back a rake or something he lent to you, and I haven’t seen him since. I was hoping you knew more than I did.”

Minjun raises his eyebrow and looks like he wants to say something about the implications of Jisungs inquiry, but decides not to, for which Jisung is grateful. “No, I haven’t seen Felix for a few days.”

Jisung holds back a sigh, thanks Minjun for his time even though he did little to help him figure out what happened to his brother, and heads to the only place he can ever think to go when he’s in a pinch; Woojin’s forge.

The sun is much higher in the sky by the time he gets there, and his level of stress about Felix’s whereabouts has increased comparatively. He’s anxious to get inside and start talking, because Woojin is extraordinarily good at calming him down when he gets too high-strung, but he stops before he gets to the door; what if he’s overreacting? But is there any reason Felix wouldn’t come home and sleep if everything was okay? He can’t think of one, so he forges ahead and knocks.

His knocks are met with silence, so he pounds his fist against Woojin’s door again. When the door still doesn’t open, he circles around the forge so he can peer through the open window closest to him. To his surprise, the room inside is empty. Holding in a sigh, Jisung returns to the front door and sinks down in front of it. If Woojin isn’t home now, he’ll just have to wait for him to get back.

With his head resting against the door and his legs folded underneath him, Jisung tries to figure out where Woojin could be. He doesn’t make any real progress though, because before he can even get through the first two possibilities, the loud crunching of gravel under hooves draws his attention down the street to the approaching cart. He recognizes the driver a few moments later.

“Seungmin,” he says curiously, “what brings you here?”

Seungmin jumps a bit, head snapping down to look for the source of the noise, and Jisung supposes he hadn’t noticed someone else was there. “Jisung?”

Jisung waves a little and tries his best to smile like normal. Seungmin’s hands tighten around the reigns, and he doesn’t wave back. _Odd._

“I’m just looking for Woojin.” Seungmin’s eyes flit to the closed door. “For work stuff,” he adds quickly. “I have to check up on an order.”

“He’s not home right now.”

“Oh, okay.” There’s a strangely tense silence between them for a moment. “Are you waiting for him?”

Jisung nods. “I just need to pick his brain about something,” he pauses, a thought occurring to him. “Actually, you might be able to help too. You saw my brother yesterday, right? Felix?”

Seungmin nods too, but he won’t meet Jisung’s eyes.

“Did everything go okay when he stopped by? Did anything seem off to you?”

“He seemed fine,” Seungmin says quickly. “Actually, if Woojin isn’t here, I can’t really wait for him right now. I have other things I need to do today, so I’ll just come back later.”

Jisung shrugs. “All right. Do you want me to tell him you stopped by?”

“No, that’s fine,” Seungmin says, already twisting the reins and urging his horse forward past Jisung. “Goodbye.”

And then Jisung is alone again, wondering what the hell just happened with Seungmin, and whether he’ll have to wait all day for Woojin to return home.

 

Woojin, as it turns out, is already preparing to head back to his forge. He hadn’t even planned on leaving it in the first place, but he hadn’t been able to sleep well all night, and some time before sun-up, decided to head out. Walking in the cool, early-morning air had helped him think over the events of the night before, and he’d ended up back at his cave without fully realizing where he was going. That’s where it had all happened, anyway.

 

He could never tell how long he’d been in the mines, so when he’d made it up to the cave and seen only darkness outside, he hadn’t been all that surprised. He’d left for the mines soon after Seungmin had gone on his way, in need of a break from the real world, not even pretending it was because he needed more ore; Seungmin had brought him more than enough.

However, he _had_ been surprised by the sound of shouting. As he approached the mouth of the cave - careful to stay in the darkness - he still couldn’t see anything but the tall silhouettes of trees, but he could make out pieces of what was being yelled.

_“ . . . let him get away.”_

_I swear to all hell -”_

_“Hwang you’re -”_

_“That way!”_

_“ . . . fucking dead if -”_

Then Woojin had seen the first dark figure run past, almost invisible in the darkness, but the severity of the situation still hadn’t hit him. It wasn’t until he saw the fire of a torch rippling through the air and the swarm of figures scattered around it - undoubtedly the source of the shouting - that he realized something serious was happening.

It had all been over before he knew it; the flame disappeared, the silhouettes slipped back into the night, the shouting faded away, and Woojin had been left wondering what exactly he’d witnessed.

 

He remembers this all now from the mouth of the cave, but he still doesn’t have any idea who ran past the hidden entrance to the old, abandoned mine, or why. The trip back to the woods helped him think everything through, but he doesn’t know any more now than he did before, and staying in the cave won’t do him any good, so he quits his pacing and starts the walk back to his home.

 

Whatever thoughts he has of a peaceful rest of the morning - much needed after the night he had - shatter at the sight of an _extremely_ dishevelled Jisung making patterns out of pebbles on the ground outside his front door. He sighs a little, but he would never turn Jisung away, especially when he looks like this, so he raises a hand in greeting.

“Woojin!” Jisung jumps up right away at the sight of him. “I was hoping you’d be home soon!”

“Well, here I am,” he says, forgetting he’s supposed to be upset about not being able to eat breakfast in peace. “You’re here early, right?”

Jisung nods. “I needed to talk to you.” He moves over so Woojin can unlock his front door, and then follows him inside.

“About what?” Woojin asks, pulling out the spare chair for Jisung to sit in while he busies himself with preparing food.

“Felix.”

“Oh, really?” Woojin can’t keep the surprise from his voice. From Jisung’s appearance, he thought it would have been something else. “What about him?”

“Well I was wondering if you’d seen him by any chance,” Jisung says hopefully.

Woojin shakes his head and turns away from the bread he’s cutting. “I haven’t. Why do you ask?”

“I haven’t seen him since about midday yesterday and I don’t think he ever came home last night. He left me a note saying he was just going out to get some tool he lent out, so I thought he would be back after I fell asleep, but this morning his sleep mat was still made up the way I did it last night.”

Woojin’s first thought is that perhaps Felix got more than whatever he told Jisung about, and ended up spending the night elsewhere, but he second-guesses that right away. He’s not as close with Felix as he is with Jisung, but he knows enough to believe that Felix isn’t exactly that type. However, this brings him to a much more unsettling thought - one he’s sure Jisung has had as well. He tries to dismiss that one as well. “Have you looked around for him? Is he not in any of the usual places?”

Jisung frowns. “I haven’t, but I couldn’t see him in the fields when I left the house earlier.”

The small knot of worry in Woojin’s stomach eases. “Maybe you should have started with looking for him, kid. He’s probably just out and about somewhere.”

Jisung doesn’t look convinced though. “Why would he be out doing something now if he didn’t come last night?”

Woojin shrugs. “I don’t know, but it’s not like you haven’t spent the night away from home before.”

“That was different!” Jisung says quickly. “Besides, Felix isn’t me. This isn’t like him.”

Woojin sighs; they’re accomplishing nothing by just talking about Felix. “Just go look for him, Jisung. Come back if you still don’t find him and we’ll talk more, okay? I don’t think you have to worry though. He’s a big kid.”

Jisung deflates, but agrees. “Okay. Thanks.”

“You know my door is open any time. Well, except for when I’m not home.”

Jisung nods and turns to go, but he stops before he gets to the door. “Seungmin stopped by earlier looking for you too. He said he needed to check up on an order or something, so he’ll probably be back later. Just so you know.”

“All right, thanks for letting me know.” He waves as Jisung leaves, and once he’s out of sight, turns back to his food. _Odd that Seungmin would need to come back about the order_ , he thinks while he finishes preparing breakfast. _Unless he just said that because Jisung asked. I guess I’ll find out if he stops by._

And he does.

Someone knocks on his door some time later, so he pauses his work to see who it is. When he sees Seungmin standing outside, he swings the door open to let him in. “I heard you might be coming back.”

Seungmin looks up, surprised, and Woojin notices how pale and strained his face looks. “Is something wrong?”

Seungmin hesitates a moment, then nods. “Yeah. Is your invitation to talk still open?”

 

Jisung doesn’t realize how hungry he is until he gets to the main square in town and smells the spices wafting out of the open door of the inn. He regrets skipping breakfast right away, but he doesn’t want to go home to get food before he’s sure Felix isn’t hiding out somewhere and all his worries are for nothing. So, he wanders through town on an empty stomach, peeking in every shop and alley he passes, and asking anyone he sees if they’ve noticed his brother around, until he makes it all the way out of the curving streets and back to the outer ring where Woojin’s forge sits. He briefly considers continuing past it and looking around the farmland again, more closely than last time, but there’s been a sharp, hungry pain in his stomach for a while now, and Woojin might be stopped for lunch when he gets there, so he decides to put his search on hold just long enough to breeze through Woojin’s for a bite of food on his way.

He makes his way down the street, reaches Woojin’s forge, and invites himself in. Sure enough, Woojin is there, sitting at his table, a plate of food in front of him. He looks up when the door opens and Jisung notices that he looks much more tired than he did earlier, but hunger is still clouding the majority of his mind, so he puts the observation on the backburner.

“Hey,” he says as he pulls out the spare chair and falls into it.

“Hello, Jisung. Any luck?”

Jisung shakes his head no and Woojin’s face falls the slightest bit. For a moment he looks like he’s about to say something, but then Jisung’s stomach growls. Woojin’s mouth clamps shut and he hands the bread on his plate over to Jisung instead. Jisung rips it in half and shoves the smaller part into his mouth unceremoniously. A strangely thick silence falls over the room while he chews, and now that he’s been fed at least a little bit, Jisung notices it more clearly than before.

“Did something happen while I was gone?” Jisung asks once he can speak again.

Woojin hesitates so briefly before answering that Jisung almost thinks he imagined it. “Seungmin stopped by.”

“Oh, how did that go? He seemed kind of, I don’t know, _weird_ when I saw him earlier.”

Woojin takes a large bite of his food before he responds. “It went all right. He wanted to talk a bit too.”

“Huh,” Jisung says eloquently, ripping off another piece of his bread. “I didn’t know you two were that close.”

Woojin definitely hesitates this time. “Well, he is a regular. It’d be worse to not talk.”

“That makes sense.”

They fall back into silence and Jisung tries to figure out why the hell Woojin’s place feels so uninviting all of a sudden. “Anything interesting?” He asks when his bread is gone and the silence feels suffocating.

Woojin shoots him an openly confused look, and it’s strangely comforting. Finally, something familiar.

“With Seungmin, I mean. Did you talk about anything interesting.”

Woojin’s face shifts. “Depends,” he pauses, thinking. “He was just telling me about his encounter with the military. He’s not usually here for the Rounds so it was . . . _unpleasant._ You know I can sympathise with that.”

Jisung nods, skeptical, but remains silent on the matter. “Okay. Thanks for the food. I’m going to go back out and keep looking for Felix.”

Woojin’s face shifts again and Jisung grits his teeth. _What is going on with everyone today?_

He leaves the forge with a hopeful “Good luck,” from Woojin, and continues on his way, trying not to think about how everyone has been acting like they’d rather be anywhere other than with him, or what exactly will happen if he doesn’t find Felix.

 

Jisung’s plan to check the fields and make sure Felix wasn’t hiding out in one of the plots seemed a whole lot better before it fully registered in his mind how fucking huge the fields actually are. Looking out from the worn footpath between the Deepwoods and the fields, they seem to stretch on forever. Jisung, however, has no better plan, so he moves past his family’s fields and wishes on every star he’s ever seen that he’ll find Felix soon, and that he’ll be all right.

The real problem with his search, he finds about halfway through, is that when he’s not thinking about how hot it is and how much sweat is clinging to his skin, his mind is fixated on the events of the last two days. He can’t focus on anything else, and the gravity of the situation is finally sinking in. With Felix missing, his father still bedridden, and Woojin suddenly acting strangely with no explanation, he has no one to turn to for help, and no idea what to do next if he doesn’t find Felix here. He feels like he’s floundering, directionless even as he continues on through the fields, wandering through a sea of grains and greens like he’s following a broken compass. But this train of thought is far from helpful, and it won’t make finding Felix any easier. It takes all his willpower to drag himself out of the spiral before he sinks so far into it that getting out would be impossible. He forces himself to think about something else because nothing could be worse than where he started, and his thoughts jump to Seungmin. _Yeah, this is fine. Just another person who acted strangely today. I wonder what his deal is._ Then he remembers what Woojin had said about their conversation. _The military. No wonder he was so on edge._ But that doesn’t quite sit right with him. Song’s only been assigned to their District for two Rounds, but Jisung is pretty sure, even with his hot temper, the colonel doesn’t pick fights with people unless they give him a chance to. _So what could Seungmin have done to . . ._ something dawns on him, and his blood runs cold. _What if Song went through Seungmin’s cart? Technically merchants should be exempt from the Rounds because they’re travellers just visiting town, but Song doesn’t seem like he would care about that. If he checked the cart, or had his men do it then that means . . . there’s a chance they could have found the ring._

Jisung curses so loudly he scares away a nearby bird, but he doesn’t care. If they found the ring then that would explain why Seungmin had such a bad experience with the troops, and why Seungmin would barely look him in the eyes this morning, but worse than that, it would explain why Felix never came home last night. Jisung doesn’t want to believe it though, because if it’s true, then everything is so, _so_ much worse than he thought it was. He’s out of the fields and running to Woojin’s in an instant.

He’s doubled over and completely out of breath when he gets there, but it doesn’t stop him from banging as hard as he can on the door. By the time it swings open, he’s upright again, and his eyes are blazing when they meet Woojin’s.

“Where is Seungmin?” He asks without pause.

Woojin grimaces, and Jisung’s fears are confirmed. Woojin certainly knew more than he was letting on earlier - that’s why he’d been acting so strangely - but Jisung doesn’t have time to dwell on that yet. He needs answers first. He needs to find Seungmin.

“He’s still at the inn, you should find him there.” Woojin says, defeated.

Jisung doesn’t bother thanking him for the information before he takes off running again.

The inn comes into view once he reaches the center of the town, and Jisung’s stomach is in stitches, but he doesn’t slow down. He skids through the door and looks around frantically. Seungmin isn’t eating at any of the tables, so he rushes past them and down the hallway where most of the rooms are, and, to his great surprise, crashes right into the very person he’s looking for.

Seungmin falls backwards into his still open door and it slams into the wall while he tumbles to the floor. Jisung is stunned still for a moment, but then Seungmin sees him and his face floods with panic, and Jisung snaps back into action. He storms forward, kicking the door closed behind him, hauls Seungmin to his feet by his collar, and doesn’t let go.

“What the hell did you say to the colonel? What happened to my brother?” He doesn’t realize he’s shaking him until he pushes too hard and Seungmin falls back out of his grasp. He stumbles until he collides with the wall behind him, eyes wide and already watery. Jisung doesn’t care though, not while he’s seeing red and his hands are itching to hit something as hard as they can. “Say something!” Jisung shouts, and Seungmin flinches away, face contorted with fear and - if Jisung is right - guilt.

“I didn’t want to,” he almost cries. “What was I supposed to do?”

Jisung’s hands ball into fists and he wants to scream. He knew Felix would’ve come home like normal if everything was fine. “I don’t know! Not sell my brother out to the military?"

“They could’ve killed me!” Seungmin says, shrinking in on himself.

“I don’t care!” Jisung yells, and he slams his hand into the wall near Seungmin, who practically jumps out of his skin. “Felix is my brother! What happened to him?”

Tears spill from Seungmin’s eyes and he chokes back a sob. “I don’t know! I barely told them what he looked like before they left. I didn’t think they would find him. I’m sorry!”

Jisung’s whole body is shaking and his eyes sting when he blinks. “You fucking should be.” Now he’s glad for his hand against the wall, because it might be the only thing keeping him upright in a moment. “What,” he says in a voice so quiet it almost scares him, “did they do to him?”

Seungmin shakes his head frantically. “I don’t know.”

“They left this morning, and I know they didn’t take him with them, but I haven’t seen him since midday yesterday. I _know_ they did something.” Jisung feels hot tears on his cheeks. “Tell me . . . _please._ ”

Seungmin hangs his head to sob again. “I- I heard them talking this morning. It wasn’t good.”

Jisung takes a shaky breath, already dreading the answer to his next question. “What did they say?”

Seungmin’s lips tremble and he refuses to look up from the floor. “Jisung, I . . . I’m so sorry. I think the colonel kil-”

“No, no,” Jisung cuts him off before he can finish. It’s his turn to stumble back now. “Don’t say it. He- he can’t be. He’s my brother - my little brother! Don’t fucking tell me he’s dead!”

Seungmin stays silent, blinking furiously.

“He didn’t do anything wrong,” Jisung whispers, and then his legs give out beneath him. He crumples to the ground, the room around him blurred by tears. “I shouldn’t have made him to the trade for me.” His voice breaks. “I should have just waited another day.”

Then it’s all too much. His whole world is coming crashing down around him, and he feels the weight of everything pressing down on his chest as he sobs into his hands. He deserves it too. This is all his fucking fault. Song killed Felix because of him. Felix is dead _because of him_.

He’s vaguely aware of Seungmin sliding down the wall to the floor, but he doesn’t care. It doesn’t matter. Felix is gone. Jisung hurts too much to care about anything else. His eyes are burning, his head feels like it’s filled with rocks, and his chest feels like it’s breaking apart. Every inch of him is cold now. Where he was burning with rage just moments ago, he’s now freezing and empty, shivering despite the muggy air suffocating him. His ears are ringing so badly he thinks he’s screaming. Then his throat seizes up and he chokes, gasping for air long enough to realize he really was screaming.

Then he feels footsteps shake the ground a bit beneath him, and hears voices, the words drowned out by the blood rushing through his head. He doesn’t lift his head from where it’s buried in his arms, even when a warm hand falls on his shoulder, but once the newcomer is closer, Jisung can recognize his voice as Woojin’s. He must have known this encounter wouldn’t end well. His presence doesn’t make the pain any less terrible, but Woojin’s hand on his shoulder feels like a lifeline, and keeps Jisung from completely losing himself. He leans into the touch the slightest bit, hoping his message with get through.

It does.

Woojin pulls Jisung gently to his chest and wraps his arms around him, rubbing small circles into his back through his shirt. Jisung can’t find the strength to move, so he doesn’t bother; he just sinks into the warmth of Woojin’s hug and tries not to think. There’s no reason to fight the wave of exhaustion crashing over his body, so his eyes shut and soon his ragged breaths come a little easier, and he lets himself be slowly rocked to sleep. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> in conclusion, don't let me write in the dark at night while listening to flame of love by taemin on repeat for an hour straight and an hour gay


	5. V. Keeping Up With The Royal Family

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> and behind door number one it'sssssssssssssssssssss
> 
> MINHO! (ft. Jeongin)

Minho can hear Colonel Song before he can see him. Actually, he’s pretty sure everyone within a 60 foot radius can hear him, with how much he’s raised his voice. Minho’s not surprised the colonel is in a foul mood; his letter indicated no different. Song’s always been a stickler for formality and wears his rank with pride, so complaints about insubordination fit his character quite well. The insubordinate in question - one Hwang Hyunjin - is someone Minho hasn’t interacted with one on one in a while. He has vague memories of a time when Hyunjin was still too new to be in the field and the two had sparred together. But Hyunjin has been out of training for some time now, and he’s not been enough trouble for Minho to see him any more than in passing. His previous commander had never reported an issue with Hyunjin. In fact, she’d been the one to suggest the transfer to the South round, to give him a chance to prove himself more. Hyunjin’s record is clean, at least for another few minutes.

Briefly, Minho’s thoughts return to the other letter he’s received within the past few days. This one is from Seungmin and does not speak of insubordination among his soldiers, but of suspicion of them. It doesn’t sit well with Minho. Seungmin does not mention specific names or events, but the underlying theme of his letter is not subtle: abuse of power in the outer districts. Minho’s long since feared such a thing. The farther away from the Capital you went, the less power the Crown held. More and more, the army became the dominant power. Minho brought it up to Subin once, even before he’d been appointed general of the army, and suggested that they try to reach the people in the outer districts instead of entrusting them solely to the army, but Subin laughed him off and patted his head, telling him not to worry himself with politics and have more faith in the soldiers. Perhaps, were Minho older and able to prove that all was not as well as they wanted to believe in the outer districts, his brother would have payed him more mind. Until now, however, the abuse of power was only an ever present suspicion, and Subin doesn’t listen much to Minho even now. Minho kneads his temple in the hopes of both coming up with a way to handle this situation without the first prince ever finding out and running off his inbound headache. The latter he has no hopes of doing so, as the main cause of the pain has now loudly entered the room and in doing so chased away any chance of the former.

Colonel Song gives Minho a crisp salute, already red in the face from his long winded tirade in the corridor, and Hyunjin, who appears to have the ghost of a nasty bruise over his cheek, follows suit. Minho stands and returns the gesture, murmuring a soft “at ease,” and invites the two to sit before doing so himself. Song’s face is tense, his mouth in a tight line that Minho  _ knows _ does not mean good things. Hyunjin, on the other hand, looks down at his lap. Minho’s pretty sure if someone’s ear could fall off from being yelled at, Hyunjin’s would have. “I understand you’ve come with a complaint to file, Colonel Song,” Minho lays the colonel’s letter in front of him, “Would you care to elaborate on Private Hwang’s transgression?”

“Private Hwang not only questioned my orders - in front of the others no less - but also defied them. Even when I gave him a very direct order,” Song emphasizes the last three words and accentuates them with a sharp glare in Hyunjin’s direction, “he did not follow it and his actions caused us to lose the thief we were in the process of catching. Had Private Hwang simply followed his orders we would have the culprit in custody and District Nine would be a safer place because of this. Minho, I don’t know what kind of soldiers you’ve been training during your time, but -”

“Mind your tone, Colonel.” The sudden sharpness in Minho’s voice stops Song mid-sentence and the two make unwavering eye contact for a moment before the colonel looks away and bows his head slightly. Though Song more than twice Minho’s age and has been in the army as long as he can remember, Minho outranks him. For someone who puts so much weight on rank, Colonel Song certainly enjoys forgetting Minho’s. “What exactly would you have me do, Colonel?” His voice has returned to its usual gentle tone, not even a trace of the edge it had only moments ago, “You seem to already given the boy a public scolding.”

“Quite frankly, I don’t care how you punish him, General Lee, I only ask that you actually do. And I formally request you transfer Private Hwang from the South round. I can not have someone like this under me.”

“Duly noted. Now, unless you have anything more to add, you are dismissed.” Colonel Song seems satisfied that he will no longer have to deal with Hyunjin and, much to Minho’s relief, does in fact leave. His attention now turns to Hyunjin, who has not made a sound since he arrived. “Is there anything you want to add, Private?”

Hyunjin looks up and there’s a weighty silence before he says, “Not really, sir.” Minho shrugs and picks up a pen from his desk. Sometimes soldiers are more likely to tell their sides of the story when their superior officers aren’t breathing down their necks, but if Hyunjin doesn’t want to then that’s his business. Minho twirls his pen in his hand and gives the boy across from him a contemplative stare. 

“Seeing as this is your first time stepping out of line, I’m not sure what I can do that the colonel hasn’t already. Typically I’d just lecture you and remind you exactly why we can not afford to have insubordination, but I get the feeling that that’s exactly what all the yelling was about. It’ll go in your record, but you’ll hear no more from me about it.” He stops twirling the pen and points to an area on the small territory map inlaid in his desk. “This is Quadrant Three. I’ll be assigning you to the border patrol there. The current patrol is too far along for it to make sense to add you to their ranks, but the next one should be leaving in a four days. You’ll be under Captain Park Jiwoo. Report to the courtyard promptly at 0530; you leave at daybreak.”

“Yes, sir.” Hyunjin doesn’t sound especially enthused, but he’s also not looking down in his lap like he’d rather be anywhere except here so Minho will take what he can get. His headache has not calmed down in the slightest and he’d really like to be done with this meeting right about now.

“You may go, Private Hwang. Try not to make too many waves.”

  
  


It isn’t until several hours and a hand cramp later that Minho calls it quits. He isn’t one to leave his paperwork unfinished and there’s been a swarm of new recruits whose files need to be finished as well as reports to sign off on and check. He’s read so many things today that it’s a wonder that he’s stayed awake for so long. Folding Seungmin’s letter and tucking it into a pocket so he can think on it later, Minho leaves his office and heads to the dining room. The kitchen staff are used to his late night dinners at this point, but it’s the presence of the rest of his family that surprises him. That’s not a good sign. It’s even worse that they’re clearly waiting for him so they can eat. Their family has long since given up on eating together. Most days, Minho’s surprised to see them at all. Jeongin, being the youngest and thus the least busy, is the one he sees the most. Though Minho spends so much time in his office at the base that now he hardly even sees him. 

“What is this about?” He hopes that his lateness will be overlooked as he pulls up a chair and the food is served to the rest of the family. The irritation in his father’s eyes tells him it will not be. They must have been waiting for some time.

“As I’m sure you know, there’s a festival coming up,” the king begins. Minho’s brows knit together in confusion. The next festival shouldn’t be for at least a month. 

“There is?”

“Subin’s. Birthday.” Jeongin mouths from across the table.

“I mean: of course there is.” Minho corrects himself and shoots Jeongin a grateful look, but he’s gone back to his soup as though nothing happened. Minho now knows what they’re talking about, but he doesn’t know why. A birthday is a birthday, isn’t it? 

“As per tradition, there will be celebrations in the hebdomad leading up to the crown prince’s 25th birthday. Jeongin, why is that?” It’s rare that Jeongin garners the attention of their parents, but it every time Minho witnesses it happen it seems to be for things like this: checks on the traditions and random facts that Jeongin’s history teacher has been lecturing about.

“One day for every Turn since the prince was introduced to the public.” Minho remembers having to recite those exact words for his own teacher at some point and promptly forgetting them right after.

“Exactly,” the king turns to look directly at Minho, “and as you have been presented to the public, it is obligatory that you attend the festivities and make public appearances. As a prince, not a soldier.” Minho winces. It’s not surprising but…

“While I understand, I have duties that I can not just leave.” And matters that he can not trust to anyone else. The king looks unimpressed by this and Minho honestly expects nothing less. His parents have always prioritized tradition and keeping up appearances. He glances over at Subin, hoping his brother will help him, but Subin does not acknowledge Minho’s pleading look. 

“Imagine how it would look if the heir to the throne did not have the support of his brother during an important time in his life.” It’s a rationale Minho has heard many times. His mother is very fond of telling him this. Maybe she hopes that if she repeats it enough, it’ll holds weight with him. “It is important for the public to know that you two are on good terms,” the queen continues patiently. The king does not have this patience.

“Minho, you  _ will _ be there. This is not up for debate. If you choose to work during the night, when the festivities are over, that is your decision, regardless of how poor it is, but as long as the sun is up your place is with us.” 

“Yes, father.” Minho resigns himself to his fate and returns to his meal, the dining room now drenched in silence. It would not be hard to mistake the family for strangers if one saw them. He finishes quickly, prefering to not be in the uncomfortable silence any longer than he has to be. Minho stands to leave and can only blink at the spot across from him, which is now empty. He hadn’t even realized his little brother had left. He’d always been good at sneaking off. Minho envied him for that. That, and the fact that he was still able to stay out of the spotlight and do as he wished.  Heading for his chambers, Minho’s eyes widen in a sudden realization. Jeongin… Jeongin might be useful. 

Fueled by the excitement of a still forming plan, Minho changes course and heads instead for Jeongin’s chambers. He thinks Jeongin will be pleased with the idea he’s had; he’s always enjoyed reading adventure novels so taking an adventure of his own will be fun for him. He knocks softly on his brother’s door only to be met with no answer. He rolls his eyes and knocks again. “Jeongin, I know you’re not asleep yet.” There’s a brief moment of silence, then a sigh and soft footsteps. Jeongin’s door opens just enough for him to stick his head out and he eyes Minho with scrutiny, as though they haven’t known each other Jeongin’s whole life.

“What do you want?” He finally asks.

“Who says I want anything?” Minho blinks innocently, “Can’t I just want to spend quality time with my little brother?” Jeongin raises a brow at him, unimpressed.

“It’s…” he tilts his head to read Minho’s watch, “almost midnight.”

“Well, the heart wants what it wants when it wants.”

“Quality time at 11:48?” Jeongin looks skeptical.

“Look, can I just come in?” Minho sighs. Jeongin isn’t buying his lie - not that he’s putting a lot of effort into it - and he’d really rather cut to the chase. The hall, however, is not the place to do so.

“Depends… what’s the password?” Jeongin grins playfully at Minho.

“Are you serious?” Jeongin shrugs at him.

“That’s not the password.” Minho runs his tongue over his teeth and gives Jeongin an irritated look.

“The password is ‘Jeongin let me in before I let myself in.’ Am I right?” Jeongin pouts at him, but backs into his room and opens the door fully.

“You’re no fun, you know that?” Minho would disagree, but he doesn’t have much evidence to deny the claim.

“So I’ve been told. But it’s not my job to be fun.” He takes a seat in Jeongin’s reading chair while his brother shuts his door and languidly waltzes over to sit on his bed.

“It’s not your job to be in my room at midnight either, and yet here you are.” There’s a moment of uncomfortable silence while the two just stare at each other and then, “So what do you want, Minho?”

“I have a proposition for you.” A flicker of interest can be seen in Jeongin’s eyes and Minho doesn’t think he’ll be very hard to convince.

“Go on…” 

“An informant of mine,” though he underutilizes that talent of Seungmin’s, it was a large reason that he’d agreed to make a deal with him, “has alerted me to some… unfavorable happenings in one of the districts. I want to put someone unknown, that I trust, on the inside to watch the district for me and keep tabs on everything. Especially the soldiers. I haven’t figured out all the details yet, but I wanted to know if you might be interested.” He can see a shadow of doubt on Jeongin’s face. “Of course, I could always ask someone else if you aren’t. I’m sure there are  _ many _ people itching to get out of the Capital and make some money.”

“No, I’ll do it.” Jeongin says quickly, as though worried the chance will slip away. He’s always wanted to leave home and now he has an opportunity. “Won’t my tutors notice I’m gone though?” His brows knit together. His tutors are no strangers to him avoiding lessons, but he assumes that this mission of Minho’s will take a long time. They will most definitely tell the king and queen if he stops coming to lessons all together. 

“I’ll handle all that.” Minho assures him. There’s nothing some gold pieces and time off can’t do. “You don’t have to do anything for now, Jeongin. Leave it all to me. I’ll fill you in when everything has been worked out.” He stands and stretches, doing his best to suppress a yawn as Jeongin does so loudly, throwing himself onto his back dramatically. 

“Close the door on your way out.” He calls, looking up at the ceiling. Minho gives him a thumbs up, even though Jeongin obviously can’t see him. He closes it slowly, carefully not to make a lot of noise. Not for Jeongin’s sake, but for anyone else in the vicinity’s. With arrangements to be made and planning to be done, Minho feels more awake than ever. He’s always liked things like this; they’re just puzzles with lots of moving parts. Having Jeongin has taken out the uncertainty that usually comes with a spy because Minho actually trusts Jeongin. But there’s still so much to do. This is not the sort of thing to leave until the last minute. So Minho turns to his left, the fastest way to leave the castle. He’s not even made it the full length of the corridor when he can hear the clearing of a throat behind him.

“Your chambers are the other way, are they not?” Minho stops in his tracks and turns to face Subin. “I don’t believe they’re in this hallway either. So begs the question, what are you doing here?” 

“I could ask you the same question.” He returns evenly. 

“I just wanted to check on Jeongin and be a good big brother.” Subin pauses beside a table and frowns at a vase of flowers, gathering fallen petals in his hand. “You?”

“I wanted to talk to Jeongin.” 

“And did you?” Minho gives him a brisk nod. “So why are you not going to bed?” 

“I still have paperwork to fill out. You know how it is.” Subin plucks a few withering petals from the begonia. He raises his eyes to meet Minho’s.

“Can’t say I do.” Alright, maybe Minho should’ve expected that. Subin helps their father, but he doesn’t do nearly as much work as the king. He dislikes the idea of all work and no play greatly, doing only the paperwork he has to. Though Minho argues that running the kingdom is a full time job, Subin always says he doesn’t consider that work. Rather, he thinks of it as his life. Minho has made the same case for himself, but it only falls on deaf ears. “Nonetheless, surely you can just tell someone else to do your paperwork for you. It’s not as if anyone will say no.” It’s Minho’s turn to frown.

“Why would I do that?” The work is his to do, after all. Subin shrugs at him.

“You’re their prince, aren’t you? Or whatever you’re insisting they call you these days. Either way, you have command over them. There’s nothing wrong with using that.” Minho shakes his head, but will not fight with his brother about this. Disagreements like this boil down to the difference in their childhoods. Though they share parents and in some ways they were raised the same, Minho spent almost all his time with the army, while Subin remained in the palace. They haven’t seen eye to eye in a while.

“It’s my responsibility. There are still some reports I have to look over too and only I can sign off on those.” 

“And that’s so important that you can’t leave it until morning?”

“It is morning, technically.” 

“Don’t be a smartass.” Subin clicks his tongue disapprovingly. “Just go to bed at some reasonable hour for once. That’s all I’m getting at.”

“I sleep when I’m tired, don’t worry.” Minho musters up a smile, hoping to be able to escape this conversation sooner rather than later. Besides, he’s mostly telling the truth. He usually does sleep when he’s tired. It just happens to be in the wee hours and at his desk. His early days don’t help, but he knew what he was getting into when he signed up.

“You’re impossible.” A sigh is directed at Minho, but he can see his Subin giving up on this. All three brothers have a stubborn streak in their blood, but Minho’s seems to run the strongest. At least in confrontations with Subin. “Do what you want; I won’t waste my breath just for you to ignore me.” Minho doesn’t know why Subin is so surprised by any of this. Minho hasn’t listened to him since he was eight so why would he start now? Subin’s always been too bossy. It’s a good trait for a king, but not one for a brother.

Truthfully, though the awkward tension between them now is nearly tangible, they used to be close. They’d had their squabbles, like all siblings do, but for the most part they’d gotten along well. Minho had even admired Subin, especially as he’d entered his teen turns while Minho had still been a child. Actually, that had probably been when the rift between them had started, but with every year that passed the bridge between them crumbled ever more and the two clashed more and more each time they saw each other. Looking back, it was Jeongin that Minho felt the worst for. He’d listened to them argue and watched them not speak to each other for days at a time and he’d tried to help them get along when that shouldn’t have been his responsibility. The disagreements had culminated with a shouting match not long after Subin’s 18th birthday, which was one of the few times he’d ever been so riled up, when Minho told him that he hated him. If he’s being honest, he doesn’t even remember what the fight was about; he just remembers his brother’s shocked face and his parents yelling. He’d run to the base and stayed there for a few days, not wanting to deal with the fallout and trying to sort through his own anger. He’s become good at controlling himself since then, but what had been bad became irreparable between Minho and Subin. Even now, they seem little more than acquaintances. Minho is fine with that. He needs no one but himself. 

 

There’s a comfortable silence that surrounds Minho at the base. Most soldiers are in their barracks, so the only other souls awake right now are those on night patrol. He can feel tension bleed out of him with every step he takes towards his office. The palace has never been his home like the base has. It isn’t a place where he can relax, nor a place that he feels content. Silence there is always heavy and uncomfortable and the atmosphere constricting, as though someone has placed an anvil on his chest. He spends as little time there as possible, but at least the time he does spend there is usually solitary. Today was an exception, one he does not care to repeat. But he knows he will as soon as the festival begins. Minho is already dreading the entire hebdomad. The only consolation he can think of is that if everything works out then he can send off Jeongin by that point and his planning won’t suffer because of the party.

Settled at his desk, Minho flicks through a drawer of files before pulling District Nine’s out. His information isn’t quite as complete as his father’s, mostly just soldiers’ reports and basic data, but what he does have is the census, which is what he’s really looking for. Most of the workers in the district are farmers, which will not suit Jeongin at all, and that narrows down Minho’s list of possibilities for Jeongin. His brother doesn’t have the skills to pretend to be a master of a trade, nor does he have the age, which means that his best bet is to get an apprenticeship with someone. Frankly speaking, Minho would prefer to put him with a shop owner, but most of the ones he finds run family businesses and already have their children helping out in the shop. Not to mention that he doesn’t know anything about them. He doesn’t want to entrust his little brother to someone that he knows nothing about, though unfortunately he might have to. Minho grabs another sheet of paper and begins to shortlist people he believes Jeongin may be able to work under. He’ll need Seungmin to ask them as well, so hopefully he’s on good terms with all of these shop owners.

_ Choi Doyun, Kim Eunji, Han Dabin, Kim Mikyung, Lee Jaeseok, Park Seungsoo, Moon Jieun…  _ Minho pauses.  _ Kim Woojin _ . He and Woojin have a business deal and they’ve met a few times, though years back. And Seungmin knows Woojin very well. Blacksmithing isn’t really what he envisioned Jeongin doing, especially not on this first trip outside the Capital. It’s difficult and requires a great deal of strength, not to mention you’re stuck in a hot forge for long periods of time, but Minho at least has a connection to Woojin, and he’s the only person on this list that he’s ever met. It isn’t much, but he’d rather trust his brother to Woojin than a  _ complete _ stranger. Minho writes and circles his name on the paper. Timing is the next thing he has to tackle. Ideally Jeongin will return before his birthday. Actually, if he doesn’t, it’ll be a problem and their parents might kill Minho for sending Jeongin away. Accounting for a few days for Seungmin to make arrangements, there should be just enough time for him to get to the Capital the day the festivities start, which will be the easiest time to sneak Jeongin out. Granted, Minho is really banking on Woojin agreeing to this whole thing, but he feels like Seungmin won’t have too big an issue with that. The thing is, he doesn’t know how long it’ll take for something to happen with the Rounds and has no way to. With that in mind, Minho settles on bringing Jeongin back during the first Cycle of the new Turn. That still gives them time before his birthday and they won’t be cutting it close. If Jeongin finds anything earlier, then he’ll bring him back earlier, but for now giving his little brother the maximum amount of time possible seems like the best course of action.

Minho’s thoughts briefly flash to Seungmin. He feels bad to ask, since Seungmin relies on travel to make money, but he can’t just leave Jeongin by himself in District Nine. Perhaps if he promises to compensate Seungmin for staying with him? Money is money, after all. There are very few people that will turn down payment in order to make it themselves and Minho doesn’t think Seungmin is one of them. And if Minho offers to pay him more than he’d make in upcoming Cycles… well, Seungmin’d be a fool not to take that deal. Seungmin will also have to teach Jeongin how to actually spy. He’s already good at blending in, but there’s a lot Jeongin doesn’t know. On that matter, Minho also needs to figure out how much he’ll have to pay the tutors to get them to keep quiet. He grimaces at how much he’s going to be spending on this mission. Money isn’t an issue, but he’d still rather not buy silence. It’s necessary in this case, but it leans too close to corruption for Minho’s comfort. Nonetheless, he begins his letter to Seungmin, not wasting time with eloquence. There’s no need for that right now. Rather, he bullets his plan and asks Seungmin if he can make necessary arrangements. Minho leaves out Jeongin’s identity, merely writing that he has a spy in mind. He wants nothing that could possibly link him to Jeongin in writing, just in case. His brother’s anonymity must remain, both for this mission and for his safety. Minho will die before he lets anything happen to his little brother.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> anyway I'm a sucker for royalty aus


	6. VI. Downpour

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> uH sorry this took so long,, I was on vacation and also thought it was a great idea to write other chapters that aren't due for a long time instead of working on this?? this is also kinda short but my last working braincell is Tired i'm soRRY anyway enjoy - demonglass

_Jisung is standing outside Woojin’s forge when the rain starts. This is fine. He can handle rain. He’s just out of the small gravel street and onto the main road to the farms when he hears the first crack of thunder. This? Less fine. He makes it a few more steps before he sees lighting, and then another clap of thunder rattles through the air. Then the rain starts to pick up as well, and suddenly it’s really,_ **_really_ ** _not fine. Jisung makes an instant decision while watching the already darkening sky flash bright white for a heart-stopping moment, and turns on his heel and sprints back the way he came._

_He bursts back through Woojin’s door completely drenched in water and completely out of breath. His eyes are wide as he slams the door behind him and moves quickly to the center of the room. The melting fire is out now - Woojin must have doused the flames after he left - but Woojin is still working. He sets down the sword he’s sharpening when he sees Jisung, though._

_“Jisung, what are you doing here? I thought you were going home.”_

_Jisung hesitates a moment. Coming back here had seemed like a much better plan before, when his options had been either staying in the storm all the way back to his house or getting to shelter much faster by going back to Woojin’s. Now that he’s here, though, he has to explain why. Saying he’s scared to death of thunderstorms for no real reason doesn’t quite fit his image, but then lighting flashes outside the window and a loud crack accompanies it and he practically jumps out of his skin, and there’s no hiding the truth from Woojin._

_The look on Woojin’s face softens from confusion to understanding and he moves swiftly to close the swinging panels on the window. He latches them tightly, keeping out the rain and blocking the sight of the lighting. Jisung relaxes a little bit, but he still feels slightly uncomfortable about barging back into Woojin’s home._

_“Uh, sorry about coming back.” Jisung says a little pitifully. “I was still closer to here when the storm started.” He pauses to jump at another roar of thunder. “Can I just stay until it blows over?”_

_“Of course you can,” Woojin says reassuringly. “It wouldn’t be fair to send you back out into that, and I’m essentially done for the day anyway.”_

_He finishes up with sharpening the sword and Jisung hovers awkwardly where he is, shrinking in on himself every time thunder shakes the walls. He can feel the ground trembling under his feet too, and soon the trembling is mirrored by this own arms. A particularly loud burst of sound is strong enough to rattle the metal on Woojin’s table, and Jisung’s legs decide to give out from under him. He sinks to the floor and rests his back against a leg of the table, where he’s lucky enough to be out of Woojin’s line of sight. He squeezes his eyes shut, pulling his knees to his chest and wrapping his arms around them. He hadn’t realized his hands were balled into fists until he had to shake them open so he could clasp them together instead._

_Thunder booms through the walls again and Jisung tucks his head into his knees, hoping that Woojin stays on the other side of the table so he won’t see him like this. He has no such luck though, because even as the storm continues to rain hell over Woojin’s forge, causing Jisung enough stress and suffering as is, he can hear Woojin set down the sword. If he’s setting it down, then he’s probably done sharpening it, and if he’s done sharpening it, then he’ll probably feel obliged to come over and see if Jisung is okay, and if he does that . . . well, he’ll see just how_ **_not_ ** _okay Jisung is. So, already awaiting the death of his pride, Jisung curls even further in on himself and tries to pretend his body isn’t shaking worse than the walls after every lightning strike sends thunder rolling through the sky in its wake._

_After a moment, Jisung can tell that Woojin has moved around the table and can see exactly how well he’s dealing with the storm. He flinches as thunder booms again, so loud that he can barely hear the pouring rain on the roof above him, and then again when he feels Woojin sit down on the floor next to him. He doesn’t dare lift his head to see the look on Woojin’s face in case it’s one of utter disappointment at the fact that his gofer and part-time assistant is such a wuss when it comes to a little light and noise._

_“You know, I was afraid of dogs when I was younger. Still am, I guess, but I haven’t seen one in a while - they’re more common in the capital.”_

_Jisung is so surprised, he lifts his head up to look at Woojin and make sure he didn’t just hear him wrong._

_“I know,” Woojin says, shaking his head, “who’s scared of dogs, right?”_

_Jisung is quiet for a moment, thinking about all dogs he’s ever seen. “They have sharp teeth,” he defends after his moment of consideration. Then another sharp crack of thunder splits the air and Jisung tenses, shrinking into himself again._

_Woojin smiles anyway, the same kind of gentle, reassuring smile Jisung’s mother always had when she comforted him during storms. The same one he sees most frequently on Felix’s face now that their mother is in away, working in the capital. The look is surprisingly comforting, and Jisung relaxes the slightest bit._

_“Dogs have sharp teeth, so it’s okay to be afraid of them.”_

_It isn’t exactly a question, but Jisung nods anyway._

_“Storms aren’t so different,” Woojin says after Jisung flinches at another burst of thunder. “Lightning can split trees down to the roots if it strikes right. Thunder is the after effect. There’s no shame in being afraid of that, Jisung. It’s smarter than having no fear, if you ask me.”_

_Jisung considers Woojin’s words until the silence is shattered by thunder once more. It’s louder than the last few bouts, and Jisung jumps, hitting his back against the leg of the table and then tipping forward. Woojin wraps and arm around his shoulder to steady him, and keeps it there even after pulling Jisung back. Jisung doesn’t mind the extra comfort, and his nerves ease the slightest bit._

_“Thanks, Woojin,” he says quietly._

_Woojin smiles again and squeezes Jisung’s shoulder. “Anytime - and I mean that. You’re a good kid, Jisung.”_

_Jisung makes a face. “You’re only a few Turns older than me though.”_

_Woojin laughs, and Jisung can almost pretend he doesn’t hear the next rumble of thunder. He closes his eyes for a moment and thinks that maybe getting stuck here wasn’t such a terrible thing after all._

 

Jisung’s eyes open to darkness. He sits up quickly, then crashes back down when he feels the pounding in his head and aching in his chest and legs. It only take him a moment to recall what had happened before he’d fallen asleep, and as soon as he remembers, he wishes he could forget. He’s not sixteen and waking up on the floor in Woojin’s workshop with a blanket draped over him and a pillow tucked under his head after a storm that lasted through the night. He isn’t going to jump up and race back home through the mud to make sure Felix is safe at home and knows he’s all right. The weather isn’t the worst thing he’s had to deal with for hebdomads, but he wishes it was.

His voice is hoarse and broken when he calls out for Woojin through the darkness around him, hoping that he’ll be heard and won’t be alone anymore. For a few moments, he hears nothing but his own pained breaths, and the ache in his chest grows stronger. He tucks his knees into his chest and stares into the dark, feeling like he’s falling apart all over again. His eyes burn, but there aren’t any tears left for him to cry, so his cheeks stay dry despite the rain in his heart. With emptiness closing in on him from all sides, Jisung can do nothing but call out again, and hope Woojin hears him this time, though his voice comes out weaker than before. Each passing moment weighs heavier on Jisung, and he’s afraid he’ll be crushed until he finally hears footsteps, and candlelight spills into the room.

Woojin’s presence chases the emptiness out of the room, and when Jisung sees his familiar face illuminated by the flame, some of the weight pressing down on him falls away. Jisung chokes out his name one last time, hoping it’s enough to let Woojin know how much he needs him right now. Woojin is the only person he has left.

Woojin’s face floods with more worry than Jisung has ever seen on it, and he sets the candle holder down quickly, stepping across the floor towards Jisung. He sinks to his knees beside the sleep mat as Jisung pushes himself up so he’s sitting too, and Woojin offers a supporting hand on his back to keep him upright. Jisung reaches for his other hand and clutches it tightly with trembling fingers. The warmth loosens some of the tension in Jisung’s shoulders, and the closeness helps his breaths come easier, so he leans forward and curls into Woojin’s arms. Woojin’s tightens his grasp around Jisung while repositioning his legs under himself to stay balanced, and they rock a bit before Woojin gets comfortable and Jisung can settle in against his chest.

For a long time, Jisung is so afraid of breathing life into the words inside his head and making them real - as if they aren’t already - that he can’t find the will to speak. Woojin stays silent, letting him think, until the buildup of unspoken words is too much for him to keep inside anymore, and spills from his mouth before he can stop it.

“He’s really gone, isn’t he?” Jisung asks, though he already knows the answer. Woojin doesn’t need to respond for him to continue, voice thick and tired. “What am I supposed to do?”

Woojin sighs heavily. “I don’t know, Jisung. I wish I knew.” He moves his free hand from Jisung’s back to run it through his hair, and Jisung is suddenly reminded of his mother. She used to calm him down when he couldn’t sleep at night by combing through his hair just like this. And then all he can think about is the last time he’d seen his mother. It had been over a Turn ago, when she’d come back from the Capital to see Felix and Jisung on their birthdays. She’d looked the same as Jisung remembered her, and though her face had been tired, her eyes had still been as bright as ever. He remembers the smile on her face when she’d sat next to him on the porch while Felix talked with their father inside, and how she’d wrapped an arm around his shoulder and leaned their heads together. They hadn’t talked much, but he’d been so happy to be near his mother again that it hadn’t mattered. After the sun had disappeared she’d kissed his forehead and told him to take care of himself and keep looking out for Felix once she left again. _“I don’t need to know your blood to know you’re his brother.”_

Jisung’s heart clenches at the memory; she would be so disappointed in him now. He’s the one that did everything wrong, but Felix had paid the price for all his mistakes. It isn’t _fair_ , but it’s _his_ fault. There’s no way he can face her after this. After a moment he realizes with a chill that he can’t face his father - sick as he is - either. How can he tell either of them that their son, their _real_ son, is dead? How can he tell them that _he’s_ the one that got him killed?

“It’s late,” Woojin says quietly before Jisung can spiral further. “Can you sleep any more?”

Jisung shakes his head the slightest bit, not wanting to disrupt the fingers still running through his hair. Though exhaustion still clings to his body, weighing him down, he doesn’t think he’ll be able to drift off again. It’s too loud inside his head for him to find any peace, and he doesn’t trust his dreams not to be nightmares.

“Okay, that’s okay. I’ve got you either way.” Woojin whispers, just loud enough for Jisung to hear. He squeezes his hands around Woojin’s and lets out the heavy breath that had been stuck in his throat.

“Thank you,” he says, his voice small when he speaks.

“You don’t need to thank me, I just want to help. Is there anything I can do?”

Jisung hesitates; he doesn’t want to make Woojin feel like he has to take care of him, but he right now he can’t stand to be alone. “Just don’t leave me, please. Will you stay?”

“I’m not going anywhere, Jisung. I promise. It’s not that easy to get rid of me.”

At Woojin’s words, Jisung feels a little more of the weight fall off his shoulders. His voice is gentle and kind and it pushes the unforgiving ones out of his head, and Jisung doesn’t want it to stop. He doesn’t want silence to fall again, suffocating him and inviting the thoughts in his head to take over once more. “Will you tell me about the Capital?”

“The Capital?” Woojin is quiet for a moment, as though gathering his thoughts. “My grandmother was a blacksmith, you know?” Fondness laces his voice. “She taught me the basics, but her age started to catch up to her as I got older and she couldn’t teach me anymore. She had a friend in the Capital - one of the most well known blacksmiths there - and as a favor he agreed to take me under his wing.” Briefly, the fingers stop running through Jisung’s hair and he can feel Woojin’s head shake ever so slightly before his hand moves again. “But that isn’t what you asked about.

“The Capital is unlike anything I’d ever seen before and have seen since. As someone who’d spent 16 Turns in District Nine, it was awe inspiring. All the streets are cobbled, for one, and the buildings are packed so tight there’s hardly any alleys. And it’s colorful, even more than the farms after rain. They have strings of flags of every color hanging across the streets year round, and they have flowers in nearly every window. But you should see it during festivals; the number of flags increases tenfold and even the palace brings out banners to celebrate.” Jisung does his best to let Woojin paint a picture in him mind, tries to focus on the bright flags.

“The palace… it almost seems to glow when light hits it. It was made from white stone, supposedly to always be a light in darkness.” There is a moment of hesitation, as though Woojin isn’t sure if he should say anything more to Jisung. It’s the royal family’s army that killed Felix, and even on a good day Jisung isn’t the type to care much about them. “They don’t see the royal family like we do. In outer districts like ours, they’re really no more than names, but in the Capital they actually see them. They feel more connected to them, in that way. You get the feeling that they’re _real_ when you’re in the Capital. Hell, I even met the second prince. During the festivals, one of the family always gives a speech in front of the main square and it’s always packed. I don’t think I properly realized just how many people there are in the Capital until I saw that for the first time.” Woojin’s voice suddenly drops to hardly more than a whisper and he holds Jisung a little tighter. “There were so many people, more than I’d ever seen in my life, but even surrounded by all those people, I’d never felt more alone.” It’s odd to hear Woojin, who always appears so strong to Jisung, as though nothing could hold him down or break him, sound so vulnerable. Jisung tilts his head slightly, but Woojin’s face is obscured in shadow. His own thoughts are too muddled and shrouded in hurt to be able to say anything. Instead, he reciprocates Woojin’s tighter hold with a gentle squeeze. _I’m here. I won’t leave you_. He hopes his gesture can convey that to Woojin, just as Woojin conveys it to him.

“I learned a lot while I was there,” Woojin continues as though nothing has happened, “and I experienced things that I’d never even thought about. Especially food. They’re able to import fish from the coast and saltwater fish is something else, Jisung. Sun and stars, I don’t think I’ve ever had anything so delicious. I wish there was a way that I could have brought it home so everyone could try it. Personally, I prefer the food from here though: it’s hearty and comforting. The Capital makes their dishes light and pretty, but nothing can top a good homemade stew. I spent a lot of time looking for…” Woojin’s voice grows fainter as Jisung’s eyes finally begin to grow heavier, his story fading to little more than a buzz as sleep once again welcomes Jisung into its arms.

 

The next thing he knows, he’s waking up gasping for air, drenched in sunlight, and alone once again. He pushes himself up off the sleep mat, ignoring the aches thrumming throughout his body, and heads shakily towards the sound of voices. Woojin’s he would know anywhere, but the second one gives him pause. His head is still foggy, so it takes him a moment to figure out why he recognizes it. When he realizes who it is, he slows to a stop to listen in on the conversation instead of walking in.

“-so early in the morning, but I didn’t know what else to do.” Seungmin says, slightly muffled through the wall.

“I told you, Seungmin, it’s all right. I don’t want to leave Jisung alone, but he was exhausted last night so he probably won’t be awake for a while still. There’s time.”

“Is he going to be okay?” Seungmin asks.

“I don’t know,” Woojin sighs. “He’s a strong kid; with time I think he’ll be able to get through it. I’m just not sure how long it’ll take.”

“Was that his only family?” Seungmin’s voice is so quiet then that Jisung almost can’t hear it.

“He has parents,” Woojin says, just as quietly, “but his mother has been working in the Capital for Turns now, and he isn’t close with his father. I don’t know how much help they’ll be.”

“Oh.”

Suddenly Jisung wishes he had just stayed tucked away in the other room. He doesn’t want to hear any more, but he can’t seem to make himself leave.

“Who will take care of him, then?” Seungmin asks, worried.

Woojin doesn’t miss a beat before answering. “I will. Jisung is the closest thing I have to family.”

Jisung’s throat tightens, but he doesn’t have time to dwell on it before the conversation continues.

“How do I tell him I’m sorry, Woojin? I’m the reason he lost his brother. You don’t just recover from something like that. I . . . I don’t know what to do now.”

“It’s not your fault, Seungmin.”

“I sold him out to the colonel to protect myself, and then the colonel killed him. It is my fault.”

“Seungmin,” Woojin says gently, “you couldn’t have known that’s what the colonel was going to do once he found him. The colonel is the one responsible for this, not you. That’s the end of it.”

There’s a pause, and then Woojin continues. “Even if you don’t believe me, apologizing probably won’t make you feel better. I know you feel guilty about this, and Jisung does too, but I don’t think it’s something you can fix with a few words.”

“Then what can I do?”

“When Jisung is ready, just talk to him. It’s between the two of you what happens from here on out.”

“Okay,” Seungmin says after a moment of silence. “Thank you, Woojin.”

“Of course, Seungmin. I know I’m not a lot of help, but let me know if you need anything else. I’m always here.”

Jisung hears a chair slide across the floor, footsteps, and then the front door opening; Seungmin must be leaving now. Jisung doesn’t know what to think about what he’s overheard, but he knows none of the anger he’d had towards Seungmin from the last time he’d seen him is there anymore. If he hates anymore for Felix’s death more than himself, it’s Colonel Song, not Seungmin.

Another chair scrapes against the floor, so Jisung slips back onto his sleep mat and waits only a moment before Woojin appears in the doorway.

“You’re awake,” he says, surprised and worried when he sees Jisung sitting up.

Jisung nods and reaches a hand out, lonely, even though Woojin is just a few paces away. Woojin gets the message - he always does - and crosses the floor to sit beside Jisung. He wraps an arm around Jisung’s shoulder and Jisung leans into him.

“I’m sorry you had to wake up alone again.” Woojin says softly, tracing small patterns into Jisung’s shirt. “Someone stopped by and needed to talk, and I thought you’d still be sleeping for a while.”

“I know. I heard.” Jisung doesn’t think there’s any point in pretending he didn’t.

“How much?” Woojin asks.

“Enough,” Jisung sighs.

“And?”

“I hope you’re right.” Jisung takes Woojin’s free hand and holds it loosely with his own. “I hope you’re right about me being okay, because right now I don’t feel like anything will ever get better.”

Woojin squeezes his hand and a wave of gratitude overwhelms Jisung. Even though the world is falling apart around him, Woojin is still there, unwavering. He’s the only thing left in Jisung’s life that makes him think that maybe, just maybe, there’s a chance he’ll be all right again.

“You’ll get through this, Jisung. We’ll figure it out.” Woojin tells him gently, holding him tight. “Together, okay?”

Jisung’s heart aches so much it feels like his whole chest is caving in on itself, collapsing like a dying star, but he clutches Woojin and believes that he won’t hurt like this forever. He trusts him. “Okay,” he nods. “Together.” 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> when i say platonic woojin & jisung i MEAN platonic woojin & jisung. 
> 
> thank you for all your comments on this work so far,, we really appreciate them and love reading them <333 
> 
> -dmg


	7. VII. That Bastard Colonel Song and the Vanishing Kid

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Hyunjin thinks about his life. He'd really rather not

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> eyyyy I'm sure you've all been waiting for him so here's Hyunjin! Big shout out to demonglass for writing part of this she really held it down (Bonus! Guess which part she wrote (^o^) )

To say that Hyunjin’s life is fucked would be an understatement. All he wanted was to prove himself a little, hopefully get a promotion, and simply keep going on as he always has. Instead, he finds himself transferred after only two Rounds with his new troop, a stain on his previously spotless record, a now faded bruise, and the worst assignment he can think of. “Border patrol” is said only in whispers through the barracks, as though saying the name too loudly curses the speaker to it. Perhaps it’s because the soldiers on the patrols are rarely seen, often returning after long periods of time at odd hours and sleeping the day away until they leave again. Hyunjin isn’t sure if he’s ever even spoken one word to a soldier in one of the patrols. He can’t imagine he ever had a reason to, and none of his friends had been assigned to them. Border patrol was the punishment no soldier wanted and, quite frankly, Hyunjin can’t believe that he’s the first one out of his friends to do it. They’d never made a formal bet, but during a spirited discussion at the tavern a few months ago their top candidate had been Kiyoung. Hyunjin’s name had quickly been tossed out of the running; he generally keeps his head down and does as he’s told, and thus is a favorite among his superior officers. And yet, here he is on his way to some town in South Bumblefuck. Oh yes, Hyunjin is having a great time.

The name of the patrol’s first stop is Hythe - which Hyunjin has never heard of in his life - but they don’t reach it for some days still so they’re having to make do with camping out and taking turns keeping watch. Presently, it’s Hyunjin’s turn to keep guard, but he’s struggling to keep his eyes open. It’s dark and unpleasantly warm, exactly the type of weather that makes you just want to take a nap and not move. He can see his guard partner (Kyungwon? Kyungson? Hyunjin still doesn’t know half of the troops’ names) having a similar problem. He’d tried making conversation earlier, but that had fallen flat as the two barely knew each other. Hyunjin’s sure that he’ll be close with everyone by the end of this trip - 3 hebdomads is a long time, after all - but thus far it’s still rather awkward. This particular troop has been together comprised of the same 10 members for several Seasons, which is unusual for an entire troop, and so are particularly close. It makes it more difficult for Hyunjin to make his place in an already established group dynamic. 

With it clear that neither he nor Kyungwon want to make another attempt at conversation, Hyunjin lets his mind wander. He thinks about Colonel Song - that bastard - and the vanishing kid. That had… that had been a night. He gingerly touches his cheek, still unused to it not hurting. Song hit  _ hard _ , that much Hyunjin could say for sure. His cheek smarted for the entire second half of their Rounds and well into the past hebdomad that he’d been waiting to leave with this patrol. The bruise has almost entirely disappeared, only visible if you looked really closely, and honestly Hyunjin is thankful for that. He doesn’t want to have to lie again and again about how he got it because he can’t exactly say, “My superior officer punched me in the face because I stopped him from killing a kid.” Song already hates him and would just use the opportunity to make Hyunjin into even more of a villian. Besides, the rest of the South Round won’t rat on Song; they either don’t care, actually respect him, or are too afraid of him. If he was being completely honest, Hyunjin had thought himself someone who didn’t care up until he’d tried to stop Song. He didn’t know exactly what had changed, but the moment he’d seen the merciless expression in the colonel’s eyes his stomach had dropped and he’d felt his throat constrict, his mouth dry. Something in Hyunjin had snapped then, and he’d pulled the colonel off the boy only to have Song’s wrath turned on him. 

_ “What the hell do you think you’re doing, Private Hwang?!” Song seethes, his face a dark red and his hand still a tight fist. Hyunjin grabs his cheek, pain blossoming and spreading across the entire left side of his face. He can only hope the boy is using this chance to run as far as he can. Song won’t be held off for long. _

_ “You’ll kill him, sir.” Hyunjin shakes as he says it aloud.  _

_ “He was resisting arrest, this is his comeuppance.” _

_ “That doesn’t mean you can just kill him!” Hyunjin shouts. The other soldiers look between him and Song, their eyes plead that he shut up, simply move on and put this behind him. Hyunjin knows he should stop, but he can’t. The dam inside him has broken. _

_ Song moves until he’s right in Hyunjin’s face, his hands clutch the collar of his shirt. “Stand down, Private.” _

_ “I will not. The law states-” Another burst of pain send dark spots in his vision and Hyunjin bites down hard to keep from crying out. He will not show weakness in front of Song. _

_ “Out here, Hwang,  _ **_I_ ** _ am the law,” he growls, knuckles growing white from how hard he’s clutching Hyunjin’s collar. “As your superior, you obey  _ **_me_ ** _. You would do well to remember that.”  _

In the end, they’d lost the boy anyway. He’d run into the dark, dead woods and no one had been able to find him. Of course, things had only been worse with Song after that. He’d kept a short leash on Hyunjin, breathing down his neck every second and making an example out of him every chance he got. He received a few sympathetic looks from his comrades - and many that obviously said he was getting what he deserved - but no one wanted to invoke Song’s ire by speaking up. Someone had asked Hyunjin why he hadn’t just let it be, and Hyunjin had shrugged and said he didn’t know. That was a lie; he knew. 

At the time he hadn’t realized it, but every time he closed his eyes the images he’d long since buried flooded back and etched themselves back into his mind once more. Seungmin’s father motionless on the ground. Blood, far too much blood. Seungmin’s screams and tear stained face. Hyunjin draws a shaky breath. He thought he was over that, but apparently it had only been dormant, waiting for a chance to rear its head again. Maybe it’s because he’s seen Seungmin again. Twice in less than two hebdomads, which is more than he’s seen him in what? Two Turns now? Hyunjin hadn’t forgotten him, but he’s also done his best to not think about Seungmin for a long time. There’s a fair bit of guilt still eating away at him from their falling out. He should have resolved things before he left, but then, Seungmin had barely wanted to look at him. Hyunjin doesn’t think he made the wrong decision - the army is probably one of the few good things he’s had in his life - but that isn’t what he feels guilty about. He feels guilty about hurting Seungmin. He was there. He was there and he still chose to join the very people who killed Seungmin’s father. So, he can’t blame Seungmin for hating him. Hell, Hyunjin would hate him too. 

Seeing Seungmin in the Capital - now that had been a shock. He’s still a merchant, that much hasn’t changed. And he’s still easily recognizable. Hyunjin had frozen when he’d seen him, not expecting to ever really encounter him again. He’d spent too many long nights during his early training trying to figure out how he felt about everything that had happened between them, and hearing his name called by a voice he hadn’t heard in ages, but familiar as ever, had brought everything flooding back. Seeing Seungmin’s face, older, hesitant, painted so clearly with shock, and yet still made up of the same soft features Hyunjin had once been able to pick out of even the busiest crowds, had broken down even more of the barriers he’d built up in his mind to keep Seungmin out of his head. Suddenly he was freshly seventeen again, far away from everything he’d ever known and everyone he’d ever cared about, still reeling from the loss of his only true friend. Everything happened in an instant, and he had to slap his soldier’s glower onto his face before the dizzying flood of panic consuming him started to show. Every second he stared at Seungmin hurt more, because the longer he looked, the more Seungmin’s face fell, and the sight twisted something painfully in his chest, but he hadn’t been able to turn away until he’d been called back to his unit.

Hyunjin had expected that everything would be fine after that. He was heading off on a Round and had no reason to bump into Seungmin again. The Capital incident must’ve been a one off. Except it wasn’t. Hyunjin, apparently plagued with bad luck this Cycle, had run into his friend (former friend? Hyunjin wasn’t sure what they were anymore) yet again. While Song had interrogated Seungmin, Hyunjin had found the trees very interesting, looking anywhere he could that wasn’t the merchant. Seungmin hadn’t said anything either, so he supposed the two of them had both come to the conclusion to ignore each other and pretend that they were strangers. Maybe, as hard as it is to admit, they are. All those years together just to not be able to meet each others eyes, a promise to stay friends forever crumbled under the weight of their fight; it stung. There are so many things Hyunjin would change about his life, but meeting Seungmin is not one of them. If this is how things are going to be between them though… Hyunjin supposes he has to be all right with not seeing him again. Seungmin can go back to living happily without Hyunjin in his life, and Hyunjin can keep the fond memories from before their falling out and pretend that’s all he needs to be okay with how things turned out between them. He isn’t one to delude himself, but it beats the alternative of getting trapped in thinking about all the things they could have been, so, in this small bit of comfort, Hyunjin will indulge. Memories are all he has of Seungmin now.

A tap on his shoulder startles Hyunjin and his head whirls around. “Our shift is over,” Kyungwon says softly, “help me wake the next pair up, will you?” Hyunjin nods and stands on stiff legs, shaking them out as he moves to Myunghwa’s sleeping form. Gently, he nudges her with his toe until she wakes up, bleary eyed and confused.

“It’s your turn to keep watch.” Myunghwa yawns, stretches, and crawls out from under her blanket to surrender the bedroll to Hyunjin.

Hyunjin settles down and wraps his own blanket around himself. It’s not cold out, but he needs the comfort. He lays there for a while, resisting the urge to toss and turn; despite the darkness and the quiet of the night, he can’t seem to fall asleep. He has a feeling it’s because of the nightmares that have been plaguing him ever since he’d tried to stop Colonel Song from killing the farm boy. They don’t come every night, but when they do, he wakes up wishing he’d never slept. It’s always the same thing: Seungmin’s father being killed by the soldiers that had come for the Rounds. He hopes that tonight he won’t have to face the memory again, but once his eyes finally fall shut, he isn’t so lucky. 

 

_ The blinding sun from the early morning has faded away, covered by thick clouds that fill the air with the promise of rain. Hyunjin is walking a few paces ahead of Seungmin, and turns every couple steps to make sure his friend is still right on his heels. “Come on,” he laughs, reaching back to take his hand and pull him forward, “you can’t be that tired yet. It’s not even past high-sun yet.” _

_ Seungmin groans, lets Hyunjin drag him closer for a beat, then slips his hand free and falls back to his original pace. “It’s fine, we don’t have to be home right away. You’re always in a rush.” He pauses, the easy smile on his face falling before he continues. “Sometimes I think you’re going to run so far ahead of me, I’ll lose sight of you completely.” _

_ Hyunjin slows a bit, trying to figure out if Seungmin is serious. “You know I wouldn’t do that,” he says once he decides it isn’t a joke. “I wouldn’t leave you behind.” _

_ Seungmin’s steps falter and he come to a stop, looking hard at him. The moment drags on and Hyunjin wonders what Seungmin is thinking, hopes that he knows he meant what he said. Then it passes; Seungmin’s face softens and he offers his hand back to Hyunjin. “Okay,” he says. Then, quieter: “You better not.” _

_ Hyunjin takes his hand wordlessly, twists their fingers together, and keeps moving down the cobbled street. This time he keeps his steps evenly paced with Seungmin’s so they walk side by side. It’s easier this way. It’s nice. So, of course it can’t last. _

_ They’re almost home when Hyunjin notices the normally bustling crowds are strangely clumped together up ahead. He slows down a bit, and Seungmin frowns, confused. “Is something happening?” He asks, looking from Hyunjin to the crowded square. _

_ “I don’t know. Stay close to me, just in case.” _

_ Seungmin nods and steps closer, following just behind Hyunjin as they approach the crowd. At first, Hyunjin has the heart to hope that maybe it isn’t something terrible, but then he hears shouting and, as they get closer, crying as well. His throat tightens and so does his grip on Seungmin’s hand. He tries to skirt the gathering and get back home without having to see whatever is happening within the teeming throng of bodies, but the square is only so big. Unless he wants to squeeze past the buildings on one side, or take a dip in the ocean on the other, he has to get nearer still to the crowd to make it out of the square and onto the next street where their destination awaits them. It should be simple: just hurry past everyone, try not to wonder what’s hidden by the crowd, and get home before the rain. But nothing is ever simple, and Hyunjin’s wandering eyes can’t help but drift over to what lies at the center of the crowd.  _

_ He sees the soldiers first. Their uniforms ensure that they stand out, but so does their height. They’re the ones responsible for the shouting - though that’s not surprising - but Hyunjin still can’t figure out is where the crying is coming from. Then his eyes drift down and he freezes on the spot. “Sun and stars,” he says, voice shaking and barely above a whisper as he pulls Seungmin to a stop beside him. _

_ “What is it?” Seungmin asks. _

_ Hyunjin can’t answer him. All he can do is stare wide-eyed and horrified at Seungmin’s father as one of the soldier’s fists connects with his already bloody face.  _

_ “Hyunjin!” Seungmin tries again, his voice urgent. “What’s going on?” _

_ Hyunjin can’t find any words to respond. He can barely process what’s unfolding before him. It’s only when Seungmin pulls his hand out of Hyunjin’s grasp and pushes forward through the outside of the crowd to try and get closer and see for himself that Hyunjin snaps out of it. He rushes after Seungmin and grabs his hand again. He tries to pull him back, terrified of what will happen if he sees his father like this, but Seungmin drags him forward instead. He stumbles through the bodies around them until he hits Seungmin’s back and they both stagger forward and break through to the front of the crowd.  _

_ Seungmin recovers first.  _

_ “Dad?” He chokes out once he’s righted himself and finally gotten a good look at what the crowd had been hiding. It’s so quiet and broken that Hyunjin almost misses it in his struggle to regain his balance. He turns quickly toward Seungmin, still clutching his hand like a lifeline, but it’s too late; there’s nothing he can do now but watch as Seungmin’s terrified face crumbles in disbelief and floods with a kind of pain Hyunjin has never seen before. He can’t bear it. _

_ “Dad!” Seungmin says, louder this time. Then he lunges forward, his free hand outstretched like he’ll be able to reach his father with it, and Hyunjin has less than a moment to stop him before he gets himself killed. He tightens his grip on Seungmin’s hand and tugs him back as hard has he can. When Seungmin falls back into the safety of the crowd, Hyunjin catches him against his chest and wraps both his arms around him, holding on tight.  _

_ “You can’t go out there!” He says as Seungmin struggles to break free.  _

_ “I have to! That’s my dad, Hyunjin!” His voice is desperate and shakes with every word and Hyunjin’s heart clenches painfully in his chest. _

_ “You can’t! Seungmin, they’ll hurt you too!”  _

_ “I don’t care!” Seungmin cries as they both watch his father get knocked to the ground. “Let me go! They’re killing him!” Seungmin’s father doesn’t get back up, and Hyunjin has to cover Seungmin’s mouth to muffle his scream. The people around them must see, must hear, but they don’t care, and they don’t matter. Hyunjin feels hot tears hit his fingers where they’re pressed against Seungmin’s cheeks, and tries to blink away the burning in his own eyes.  _

_ “Seungmin, please.” This time it’s his voice that breaks. “It’s the military. There’s nothing we can do.” _

_ Blood spills onto the stones and Seungmin’s father has been limp since he hit the ground, but the soldier still doesn’t stop. Seungmin shakes in Hyunjin’s arms, half screaming and half sobbing into his hand. _

_ “I’m sorry.” Hyunjin says, squeezing his eyes shut and finding that it does little to help. “I’m so sorry, Seungmin.”  _

_ The soldier finally steps back from Seungmin’s father, dropping his collar and letting his head fall back against the stones once more. His face is so beaten and bloodied that Hyunjin is barely able to recognize it anymore, but what’s worse is his chest, still as stone. Hyunjin knows what a dead body looks like after all his Turns on the street, but it still brings bile to his throat. He thinks he hears the soldier say something along the lines of “Get rid of it,” and the next thing he knows, two of the other soldiers are hauling Seungmin’s father up unceremoniously and dragging him towards the edge of the cobblestone where it drops off into the water of the docks. Seungmin struggles harder against Hyunjin’s hold once he realizes what they plan on doing, but there’s nothing either of them can do to stop them. They dump the body in the ocean like it’s trash and not Seungmin’s whole world, and then walk away, leaving the square behind as if nothing happened.  _

_ As soon as the soldiers are out of sight, Hyunjin stops holding Seungmin back. He breaks out of his arms and runs forward, not stopping even when he stumbles on the uneven ground. Hyunjin hurries after him, ready to catch him if he tries to throw himself into the ocean after his father’s body, but Seungmin stops before the drop-off to the sea. He falls to his hands and knees on the very edge of the square, looking down at the water below, sobs racking his body. _

_ Hyunjin stops a few paces away from Seungmin, unsure of whether he should get any closer - whether Seungmin will want him any closer after making him watch his father’s murder helplessly from the sidelines. Then Seungmin calls out for him, gasping his name as he tries to catch his breath, and Hyunjin closes the distance between them in an instant. He sinks to the ground by Seungmin’s side and reaches for him with trembling fingers.  _

_ Seungmin draws another shuddering breath and leans into the touch, turning away from the ocean, throwing his arms around Hyunjin’s shoulders, and burying his face in Hyunjin’s neck. Hyunjin pulls him close gingerly, scared that any touch too strong will shatter Seungmin in his arms, but still holds him with a fierceness that even he himself is half surprised by. As Seungmin’s chest heaves against his own, Hyungin stares at the murky blue sea through blurred eyes, and tries to pretend he can’t feel his heart being torn apart every time a broken cry slips past Seungmin’s lips. _

_ The first raindrops hit them, ice cold and heavy, and Hyunjin shivers as Seungmin presses closer to him. “We should go home,” he says softly once he can’t tell whether the water on his cheeks is from the sky or his eyes, and Seungmin’s sobs have subsided into silent shaking.  _

_ “I don’t think I can,” Seungmin whispers into his collar.  _

_ “I know.” Hyunjin leans his head against Seungmin’s and sighs heavily. “But there’s nowhere else to go, and we have to get out of the rain before it gets worse.” _

_ Seungmin is quiet, and Hyunjin worries it will be too much for him to go back without his father, but after a moment, Seungmin nods. “Okay.” _

_ Hyunjin lets out a breath of relief. “Thank you,” he mutters, pressing his lips lightly against Seungmin’s shoulder before he leans away. He pushes himself to his feet and helps Seungmin up after him, putting an arm around his waist to keep him steady. Seungmin clings to him all the way out of the square, where the blood staining the cobblestones is already being washed away, and doesn’t let go until they’ve made it home, unlocked the door, and escaped the rain. Seungmin looks ready to collapse right there on the floor, drained and exhausted by the day even if the sun hasn’t even started to set yet, but Hyunjin won’t let him rest until he’s helped him discard all the soaked material clinging to his skin, and pull on a dry shirt. He thinks Seungmin will head to the sleep mats right away, but he stays, waiting until Hyunjin has peeled off his own dripping clothes and slipped into dry trousers to take his hand again and pull him to his sleep mat. Seungmin rests his head against Hyunjin’s chest again, and Hyunjin’s arms find their way back around Seungmin, and they fall asleep buried under a battered blanket and the weight of what the day has taken from them. _

 

Hyunjin wakes up in his troop’s camp under the stars, drenched in sweat and unable to ignore the aching in his chest. He throws the thin blanket off, as if that will somehow ease the heaviness that weighs down his heart, and sits up to try and calm down. The sounds of Seungmin’s broken sobs still ring in his ears, even when he shakes his head to try and get them out, and when he blinks he still sees the body of Seungmin’s father. Hyunjin’s fist clenches and he has to suppress his own desire to scream for the pain that Seungmin went through, and the anger that all he could do was watch. 

“Nightmare?” Hyunjin forces himself to look up from his lap and to Captain Park, on watch a few feet away. Her back is to him and firelight dances across her face as she glances over her shoulder. Though it’s a question, Hyunjin is pretty sure she already knows the answer. People don’t wake up gasping for air for many reasons. So Hyunjin just nods. “Sorry.” It isn’t an empty word; Hyunjin can feel that she means it, though she has nothing to be sorry for. It’s not as if it’s her fault. They’re silent for a stretch and Hyunjin almost thinks he should just lie back down and pretend to go back to sleep so they don’t have to try and talk anymore, but the captain beats him to it. “I wish it wasn’t like this.” She’s turned her head away from him again and Hyunjin has to strain to hear her.

“What?” 

“Too many soldiers suffer from nightmares,” Captain Park laughs, but it’s hollow. “I know it comes with the nature of the job and all, but I wish it didn’t.” Hyunjin takes her word for it - it’s logical, after all - though he’s sure that there are plenty of soldiers like him too. Those who don’t have nightmares because of things they’ve seen in the military, but those who have nightmares of things they’ve seen before, perhaps  _ because _ of the military. He’s met plenty of soldiers who used to live on the streets, like him. For kids like them, joining the army makes a lot of sense. They get food, regular, reliable money, a roof over their heads… all the things they struggled for or didn’t have before. 

That’s what Seungmin hadn’t understood. In his eyes, Hyunjin had forgiven the military for what they had done, which Seungmin never could. But that hadn’t been the case at all. In all honesty, aside from being able to pull his weight and not rely entirely on Seungmin’s income, he’d thought that maybe if he joined the military he’d be able to prevent something like the death of Seungmin’s dad from happening again. After he’d actually spent some time in the army, he’d figured it only a naϊve dream. Still, that kid wasn’t dead, right? Sure, Song had still done a number on him, but Hyunjin had given him enough time to escape. At least, he likes to assume the boy escaped, since they hadn’t found him. Something about the situation doesn’t sit quite right with Hyunjin, but he’s choosing to ignore the feeling. It’s probably selfish, not that Hyunjin cares. He needs  _ some _ peace of mind, seeing as he’s had so little since he saw Seungmin. The guilt that ate away at him for so many Cycles has welled up again and Hyunjin can feel it swirling around him, ready to strike as soon as a final blow is dealt to his conscience. So Hyunjin will continue to cling to the one thing he feels that he’s done right in a while and brandish it like a torch against the dark cloud of guilt. 

“You should try to sleep while you still can, Private,” Captain Park throws a log on the dimming fire. “There are only a few hours until daybreak and you’ll need your wits about you tomorrow. We’ll be coming up on a patch of heavy bandit activity.” 

“Yes, Captain.” Hyunjin lays down and stares up at the stars, the same ones he slept under all those years in Aramoor. They’re the one thing he has left of home.

 


	8. VIII. Anchored

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> jisung is still adjusting, still breaking as much as he's mending. at least there's someone who understands what he's going through

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> ahhhhhh this took SO long I'm sorry

It’s past high sun before Jisung gets up off the sleep mat again. Woojin has been two rooms away, working in the forge for some time now, and though he’d been hesitant to leave, Jisung had forced him to go anyway, feeling too guilty about keeping him from his work to find faint peace in his comfort any longer. In his time alone, Jisung has discovered one thing: he fucking hates it. Everything gets far too empty and far too quiet, and suddenly there’s nothing stopping his mind from wandering to dark places where he feels like he’s drowning in his own thoughts. The worst part isn’t even the voice in his head telling him that he’s never done anything right before in his life so it shouldn’t be surprising that he finally screwed something up this badly, or the one that says it’s only a matter of time before his mother and father find out what he’s done and abandon him to the crows because it’s what his birth parents did to him first, or any of the other voices haunting him with wicked words. No, the worst part is that none of them are wrong, and as much as he wants them to stop and for everything to feel better, he knows this is exactly what he deserves. But, even if this is what he’s got coming, he remembers his whispered promise to Woojin, words he’d said and words he hadn’t, and finally forces himself up from the floor. 

He shakes a bit as he walks, and realizes that he’s barely eaten for two days now. His stomach is still too twisted and knotted for him to be hungry, but he’s not sure he’ll be able to stand by dusk if he doesn’t force down some food. So, figuring he can’t ask Woojin for more than he already has, Jisung slips quietly out the back door and heads towards the farmland.

It isn’t until his house come into view that he has second thoughts. Can he really go back home? Back to the place where he and Felix grew up together and spent countless nights staying up too late talking, laughing into pillows so their parents wouldn’t know they hadn’t gone to bed yet? Will it be too empty to bear? A dozen questions fly through his head, but he doesn’t stop walking until he’s on the front step and he realizes with a jolt that the house isn’t actually empty, is it?

He throws the door open and sees the soup pot still on the table by the dark fireplace. His father is sick, he remembers, a rush of cold dread flooding through him. How could he have forgotten? The pain from losing Felix has clouded his mind so much he’s overlooked the fact that he could still lose his dad. 

The next thing he knows, he’s off balance and running through the main room to get to the last place he’d seen his father. The curtains are still drawn over the window and the blankets on the raised sleep mat are thrown haphazardly back, tangled together on the very end of the mat. Jisung heaves a sigh when he sees that his father is still there, but his chest tightens again when he sees the state he’s in. His eyes are closed, but his brows are furrowed and his face twisted and glistening with sweat. He’s shaking almost as badly as Jisung is. 

Panicked, Jisung takes two swift steps forward and lays a hand on his father’s forehead to check his temperature. He pulls it back quickly, grimacing at the heat, and backtracks to the front room to get water and a wet cloth. His father wakes up to Jisung wiping the sweat off his skin with the cool cloth, hazy at first.

“Felix?” He asks, tired eyes looking up but not quite at Jisung. His heart twists and his chest feels like it’s shrinking in on itself, but Jisung does his best to keep his voice from breaking when he answers.

“No, dad. It’s me, Jisung.” His father doesn’t answer, so Jisung lays the cloth across his forehead, hoping it will ease the fever, and brings the cup of water up to his father’s lips with trembling hands. “You need to drink.”

For a moment he worries his father hasn’t heard him, but then he nods a little and lets Jisung tip the water into his mouth. Once he’s gotten him to drink the whole cup, Jisung lets his father drift off again, looking a bit better than he had when he’d first arrived, and retreats to the front room. He pours himself a bowl of the soup still left over from the last time anyone had cooked dinner, curls himself up into a ball on the floor in the corner, and forces it down, barely tasting it. His whole body feels numb. Of course his father would think he was Felix. Felix was the one who’d been taking the most care of him since he’d fallen ill. Jisung had let him, because Felix had always been their father’s favorite. But now . . . now everything falls on Jisung, and he isn’t sure he can shoulder the responsibility when he can barely even take care of himself. And what is he supposed to do when his dad starts asking for Felix because he hasn’t seen his favorite son in a while? Just thinking about it makes Jisung’s lungs collapse even faster, until he has to discard his empty bowl on the floor to grab at his chest because he feels like he can barely breathe anymore.  

The walls are closing in on him as he struggles to drag air into his lungs, and he lets out a small cry because he had hoped he’d be able to do this, but it’s all too much for him. He wishes he hadn’t left the safety of Woojin’s forge, and feels worse for being so selfish, but he can’t deal with any of this with fresh pain still cutting through him every time he thinks about how much easier everything would be with Felix still by his side. He’d thought his tears had been run dry, but now his cheeks feel wet against his palm where it’s pressed over his mouth to muffle any sound pushing past his lips because he honestly can’t tell if he’s making any noise over the blood rushing in his ears. 

How many times has he lost it like this already? He’s lost count of his breakdowns over the last few days, and shame floods through him right along the overwhelming  _ hurt  _ that makes every inch of him ache and sets fresh tears in his eyes, until he’s practically choking on the grief overflowing in his chest and squeezing up his throat. His eyes are shut tight, pushed behind his knees where he’s buried his face in the hopes of blocking out the rest of the world while he tries to keep from drowning in himself. That’s why he jolts, startled, when all of a sudden, he feels a hand on his shoulder, cool through his shirt, and hesitant, but enough to drag him out of the suffocating emptiness long enough that he can finally catch a breath. He lifts his his head and looks up through blurry eyes.

“Seungmin?” He chokes out, unsure of whether he’s seeing clearly. But he blinks a few times, chest still heaving, and the person in front of him still looks very much like the last person he expected to see.

Seungmin swallows and stares at Jisung, wide eyes full of concern, his face twisted, distressed. He nods. “I was,” he starts, then stops, hesitating. “Are you okay?”

Jisung blinks and tears splash from his lashes. He looks at Seungmin a moment longer before lowering his eyes and shaking his head. He doubts it's a shocking answer. 

Seungmin’s hand starts to feel a little more sure, solid on Jisung's shoulder, and he finds he doesn’t mind it being there. Even though this is Seungmin, who sold his brother out to the military, he’s also the boy who broke down just like Jisung because of what his actions had brought upon Felix, and the same one that had come to Woojin asking how Jisung was holding up, and how he could try to make amends for what he’d done. Jisung doesn’t think Seungmin is a bad person; he thinks Seungmin might be just as scared and alone as he is himself. So, no, he doesn’t mind the reassuring hand on his shoulder, or the one that lands on his knees, still tucked up to his stomach. 

“Jisung,” Seungmin says softly, his voice wavering slightly, “it’ll be easier to breathe if you aren’t compressing your chest.” 

Jisung can’t find it in himself to respond, but he lets Seungmin push his legs down, easing them away from his chest until he finds it does indeed seem easier to drag air into his lungs, and he stops gasping for breath. His body still shakes like a leaf caught in the wind, but Seungmin has started rubbing his fingers back and forth on his shoulder, smoothing away some of the tension stuck there, and his other hand still rests on Jisung’s leg, just above his knee, tethering him to the present so he doesn’t get swept under again, and soon the tears dripping down his face dry into light pink streaks on his cheeks. 

“Better?” Seungmin asks gently once Jisung’s breathing appears to be back to normal and his shakes have lightened to the occasional shiver.

Jisung nods and chances a glance up at Seungmin. The look on his face is oddly understanding, and keeps Jisung from turning back to the ground. “How did you know that would work?”  His voice is barely above a whisper, but Seungmin’s eyes shift away, so Jisung knows he heard.

There’s a long pause before Seungmin answers. “It works for me.”

They’re silent for a while after that, Seungmin still tracing simple shapes into Jisung’s shoulder through his shirt, and it should probably be awkward, since they’re barely acquaintances at best, but maybe their mutual breakdown days earlier has brought them closer, because the room feels a hell of a lot less empty with Seungmin there, and Jisung doesn’t feel so alone anymore. 

Then something strikes Jisung as odd. “Why are you here?” He asks once he realizes Seungmin has never been to his house before and has no reason to know where he lives.

“I was at Woojin’s when he went to check up on you and saw that you were gone. He was worried,  _ really  _ worried, since you had just disappeared, but someone showed up about an order so I said I’d come look for you so he could take care of it. I wanted to talk to you anyway. He told me where you live, and I wasn’t sure you’d come back here, but I came to check it out just in case, and I heard you crying, so here we are.”

“Oh,” Jisung says quietly, ashamed that he’s caused Woojin even more trouble.

“Woojin really loves you, you know?” Seungmin says suddenly, without warning, like he knows what Jisung is thinking. “That’s why he’s worried - because he cares. He cares a lot. He’s there for you, really, and he wants to help. That’s really special.” His voice drops so low at this that Jisung can barely hear him. “You should hold onto that. I know it can be scary to rely someone else like this, that it feels like you’re taking too much, but it’s okay to ask for help when you need it. There’s no shame in it. There are some things that you should never have to go through alone if you don’t have to, so don’t force yourself to try and get through this on your own. Especially since he wants to help. Running away will hurt both of you more.”

Jisung tries to swallow because now his heart feels like it’s lodged firmly in his throat, keeping him from breathing once again, but his mouth is parched and he can’t seem to do anything about the obstruction. “I didn’t run,” he mumbles pitifully, though it’s an obvious lie. He can pretend all he wants that he came here to take care of his father, but he knows it isn’t true. 

Thinking of his father now reminds him that he should probably be checking in on him again, but upon further consideration, he isn’t sure he can even get up off the floor, let alone get his father whatever it is that he needs to get better. Still, he sets his hands on the ground and tenses, ready to push himself up until he becomes aware of Seungmin’s hands keeping him down and has to meet his eyes once again. 

“I have to take care of my father,” he says, weak, lacking conviction.

Something flits through Seungmin’s eyes.“I don’t think you’re in any state to do that.” His expression changes. “What’s wrong with him?”

There’s a startling severity in Seungmin’s voice that Jisung doesn’t think he’s ever heard before, but he’s exhausted, unable to try and piece together what it’s about. 

“He’s sick.” Jisung tells him, with no reason to lie and no will to fight. “It’s not good; he’s been down for days now, I’m not sure how long.”

Seungmin nods and purses his lips, serious. “Have you taken him to town to see the doctor?”

Jisung says yes even though he wasn’t the one that had brought the doctor into their home in a panic because his father didn’t have the strength to make it out the door. 

“What did she say?”

“She’s not sure exactly what’s wrong. She made a tonic she thinks could ease the symptoms, then said we might need to send him to the Capital where they can help him more, but I don’t have any way to get him there.”

Seungmin looks at him for a long, tense moment, and Jisung can almost  _ see  _ the gears turning in his head while silence stretches between them. Then his face clears and his eyes soften, still trained on Jisung’s. “I’m going back to the Capital when I leave. I’ll bring him with me.”

Jisung’s lips part in surprise, but before he can say anything, Seungmin continues.

“I know this won’t make things right, but I can’t let you lose your father too. I’ll take him to the Capital and make sure he gets help.”

Jisung stares, eyes wide, unsure of what to say. 

“I’ll take care of him until then, so you don’t have to worry. I don’t expect you to forgive me for what I’ve already done, but let me do this. Please.”

“Okay.” Jisung says once he finds his voice. There’s something about the look in Seungmin’s eyes that tells him this isn’t something he should protest. And Seungmin is right - Jisung can’t take care of his father himself, and he can’t think of any other way to get his father to the Capital. For now, he can do nothing but trust the determination on Seungmin’s face and have faith in the feeling he gets from looking into his eyes, which swim with unspoken words and stories, buried deep under the layers of shining brown. 

“Thank you,” Seungmin murmurs back, meeting Jisung’s gaze with conviction. “Just tell me what I need to do until then and I’ll do it. Let’s get you back to Woojin’s first, though. He’ll be waiting.”

Jisung’s eyes drop to the floor. He wants to go back so badly it scares him. It’s so easy with Woojin; he feels safe and secure like he hasn’t in longer than he can remember, and there are brief moments - some so fleeting he thinks he’s imagining them - when he’s tucked snugly in Woojin’s arms, in which he feels like everything that has fallen apart in his life and everything that’s crumbling to pieces inside of him is pushed away. His home isn’t four walls, not that it ever has been, but he’s terrified to admit to himself where he finds solace now. Everyone he’s called home before has left him, and he doesn’t think he’ll be able to survive losing yet another person he loves. It’s so easy to stay with Woojin, but it would be just as easy to lose him. Felix’s death has proved this - a lesson he never wanted to learn.

The idea of losing Woojin on top of everything else is too much to bear, and the fact that he cares so much fills him with a jumpy, anxious kind of fear, just waiting for the moment when everything goes wrong again. So, he has tried to fool himself into thinking that pulling back now, before the inevitable break, will make it all hurt less, pretending it won’t hurt no matter what he does. But there’s still a part of him that thinks of Seungmin’s words and dares to dream that maybe,  _ maybe  _ with Woojin around, there’s a chance that comfort, that fleeting relief from the pain in his heart, might sneak in and catch hold of him before the world collapses again. Maybe it’s Seungmin’s hand squeezing his shoulder lightly, pulling him back, grounding him, that makes him decide, before he even knows it himself, that the chance alone is worth the risk, but it doesn’t matter why he decides this, really, just that he does.

Then Seungmin stands, and there’s nothing Jisung can do but follow. Seungmin pulls him up and leads him out the door, hand once again resting on his shoulder, though Jisung isn’t sure if it’s to keep him steady or to offer some kind of comfort. He suspects it might be both, and is thankful. 

They walk in silence for the most part, eyes trained on the path in front of them, until they’re almost halfway to Woojin’s - just a ways away from the beginning of gravel roads signifying the outermost limits of town - and Seungmin shatters the quiet around them.

“Will you stay with Woojin now?”

Jisung stumbles a bit at the question, but Seungmin holds him steady and they keep walking forward even though the world is slowly spinning in front of Jisung. “What do you mean?” 

“I mean if I’ll be leaving with your dad within the hebdomad, are you planning to live alone in your empty house, or are you going to stay at Woojin’s for a while?”

They’ve hit gravel by the time the ground has stopped waving beneath Jisung’s feet and he manages to answer. “I don’t know. I haven’t thought about it.” 

Seungmin nods beside him. “You should. It’s even harder than you’d think it would be to live alone when you’re used to having someone else around.”

“Okay. I will.” Jisung says, then frowns a little, wondering why Seungmin seems to know all about what he’s going through. He doesn’t dare ask though, and Seungmin doesn’t say anything more, so the rest of the walk passes in silence once more.

They reach Woojin’s door and Jisung’s hands shake as Seungmin raps against the wood. Nothing happens for a moment. Seungmin’s hand drops back to his side. Jisung’s stomach twists itself into knots. Then the door swings back and Woojin is right there in front of him and Jisung is frozen as Woojin’s eyes land first on Seungmin, then catch his own. Relief paints itself across Woojin’s face when he sees Jisung, and the knots in his stomach loosen a bit, though he still can’t move until Seungmin nudges him forward. His steps feel like stumbles, but he makes it through the door and inside the forge without falling. Woojin watches him closely until he’s sure he’s balanced, then turns back to Seungmin.

“Thank you,” he says like a weight has been lifted off his chest.

Seungmin nods, the ghost of a smile on his face. “Happy to help. I’ve got to go now, but come find me if you need anything else. Jisung knows where I’ll be.” He offers them a short wave, then pulls the door closed behind him, leaving Jisung alone with all Woojin’s attention back on him. 

Woojin looks like he’s wrestling with that to say for a moment. “Did you and Seungmin talk? Did he apologize?”

Jisung thinks of all Seungmin has done for him today and nods without hesitation. “Yeah, he did.”

Woojin sighs, but Jisung can’t tell if it’s with relief or something else. He twists his fingers together behind his back, anxious for Woojin to speak again because the silence feels awkward and stifling. 

“Are you hungry?” He finally asks.

Jisung shakes his head. “I ate when I went back home.”

At this, Woojin makes a face, and, briefly, he almost looks as young as Jisung. “Is that why you left? To get food?”

“Yes?” It’s meant to be a statement, but it comes out as more of a question.

Woojin laughs, exasperated. “You know I do have food here right?”

“I didn’t want to bother you more than I already have.” Jisung says, knowing right away how foolish it sounds, especially after everything Seungmin had told him earlier.

“Sun and stars, Jisung.” Woojin looks like he’s at a loss for words. He opens his mouth like he wants to say something more, then closes it, and takes two steps forward so he’s right in front of Jisung. For a heartbeat, Jisung is worried he has upset Woojin, but the fear passes when Woojin rests his hands gently on Jisung’s shoulders and looks at him with soft, bright eyes. “Jisung, you’re not a bother. Even before all this happened, you were more than welcome here. I know with your history it’s hard for you to believe that people love you and will actually stick around, even if they do, but seriously, I’ll tell you as many times as you need to hear it: I care about you, and I’m not going anywhere. If you need help, all you have to do is ask. I’m right here, okay?”

Jisung swallows back the lump that has formed in his throat and his lower lip trembles a bit, threatening tears as he chokes out a small  _ “thank you”  _ before clamping his mouth shut fpr fear than his voice will break if he has to say another word. Then he hugs Woojin because that’s a better show of his gratitude anyway, and the arms on his shoulders move to wrap around his back, and all the tension left in his body drains away. Believing Woojin will always be around might be more than he can manage, but for now, safely tucked in his arms, he doesn’t have to believe just yet. All he needs to know is that Woojin is right now, he’s here, and that’s enough.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> uHhhH so that was kinda a vent chapter oops and i wrote the ending literally at midnight so,, sorry?? hopefully i get my act together and do better next time. for now tho you can look forward to the next chapter which will be much brighter and happier and HOPEFULLY soon but no promises bc wow school is a bitch already. anyway if you're reading this i literally love you and thank you for all your lovely comments on the last chapter they made us STUPID happy <33333


	9. IX. Seungmin and Jeongin's Excellent Adventure

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Jeongin and Seungmin finally meet! The legends themselves!

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> a bit of a break from the angst for you guys! I love Jeongin y'all he's so cute

“Jeongin!” The rustling of drapes brings a still mostly asleep Jeongin to consciousness. He opens his eyes, just a crack, sees his brother standing in front of a pink, dawn sky. With a groan, Jeongin rolls over and nestles deeper into his sheets, hoping his brother is just a hallucination. He can feel the silk sheets being pulled away from him and Jeongin mumbles something even he knows is unintelligible. “Jeongin, wake up.” Minho’s voice is closer this time, right above Jeongin’s head. He opens one eye this time and startles to see his older brother’s face looming over his. “Get up, Jeongin.” The last syllable of his name is extended and throwing his arm up to swat away his brother, Jeongin resigns himself to waking up, despite the fact that the sun hasn’t even risen. Minho dodges his arm easily and busies himself with digging around in an rucksack that Jeongin’s never seen. 

“Why exactly am I awake again?” He sits cross legged in his tangle of sheets and blinks a few times, trying to clear the fog in his brain. Minho gives him a look.

“Seungmin’s supposed to be here soon and you,” Minho looks Jeongin up and down and sighs, “are nowhere near ready to leave. Come here.” He waves Jeongin over and brandishes a pair of scissors. “The less you move, the better this will look, so unless you want your hair to be uneven I suggest you keep still.” Jeongin stares at his brother like he’s crazy.

“Sorry, we’re cutting my hair?” he asks as he takes a seat at his dressing table. It’s not that he’s particularly fond of it or anything - actually, he’s always been curious about having short hair - but it’s a big change for having no preparation whatsoever. Minho hums in acknowledgment and moves to make the first cut, but stops when he sees Jeongin’s uncertain face.

“What’s wrong? I thought you were looking forward to cutting it off,” Minho leans against Jeongin’s table. 

“I am. It’s just… I don’t know,” Jeongin examines his hands in his lap. “I guess I just feel like I’ll lose my identity when I cut it. I know that’s the point, but my hair is so intrinsic to who I am and-”

“You feel like you won’t be a prince anymore once you cut it?” Minho finishes for him.

“Yeah.”

“Jeongin, look at me,” Minho’s voice has softened considerably. Jeongin does as he’s told and tilts his head to look at his brother, decked out in his blue and gold finery. “My hair isn’t long; it hasn’t been for a very long time. Does that make me any less of a prince?”

“No,” Jeongin mumbles, “but you can’t have long hair because of your job.”

“Well, isn’t this a job?”

“I guess.”

“Then there you go,” Minho grins and once again prepares to cut Jeongin’s hair. “It’ll grow back eventually anyway.” Jeongin knows he’s right and he’s sure he’ll get used to the change quickly and it’ll be like he never had even had long hair. Still, he doesn’t dare look in the mirror until Minho tells him to. “Well?”

Jeongin turns his head this way and that, running a hand through his now short hair. It will take some getting used to, but he doesn’t hate it. It’s oddly freeing and he intends to tell Minho as much, but his brother has left his place behind Jeongin and is rummaging through the rucksack. He pulls out a bundle of clothes victoriously and tosses them to Jeongin. “I payed one of stable boys who looked about your size for these, so hopefully they fit,” he pauses, “They’re clean don’t worry.” He ushers Jeongin behind the changing screen. “We don’t have that much time so be fast.”

Other than the shirt being more billowy than it was probably intended to be, the clothes fit rather well. The materials are more itchy and thin than Jeongin is used to, but if he wants to blend in he'll have to make it work. Hopefully there's a coat or cloak of some sort shoved in that rucksack. They're coming up on the colder Cycles and Jeongin knows that even during the warm Seasons there are districts with a perpetual chill in the air. Minho has given him a pair of his old boots, well worn and comfortable thankfully, to wear as most of Jeongin’s shoes are much more formal and stiff, not at all conducive to travel, warmth, or comfort. Checking his watch, Minho mutters something indecipherable under his breath - though knowing him it's probably something less than appropriate for a prince to be saying - and shoves the pack in Jeongin’s arms. “I'll have to brief you on the way. We’re going to miss our window otherwise.” 

Sticking his head out the door, Minho makes sure the coast is clear before tugging Jeongin into the hall with him and walks hurriedly. “You know the plan, yes?”

“Travel with Seungmin until I get to District Nine, stay under the pretense of apprenticing under Woojin, keep an eye on things - especially the soldiers, - don’t reveal anything to anyone, and report back to you regularly,” Jeongin sounds off the instructions Minho’s all but imprinted into his head. It's not all that complicated; he doesn't see why they need to go over this again. Minho pulls him into a smaller, side corridor and Jeongin recognizes the route. It’s one of the many shortcuts built into the palace and leads to a household store room, where they keep things like candles and linens. The shortcut is meant for servants to use, but Jeongin has spent his plentiful time away from his parents’ overbearing eyes exploring his home (and maybe, just maybe, avoiding his tutors). He is surprised his brother knows the route, not thinking Minho had ever spent enough time in the palace to know or care about it. Minho looks back into Jeongin’s eyes as though he can sense Jeongin thinking about him. 

“And?” he's always had a very intense stare, the kind that makes you squirm and feel as though he's staring straight into your soul. The one he's fixed on Jeongin right now is devoid of the usual coldness and instead is tinged with worry. 

“And…?” Jeongin is simply confused. His memory is very reliable and there's no way he left something out. Minho described the mission very thoroughly and Jeongin listened just as attentively.

“Stay  _ safe _ , Jeongin,” he sounds almost exasperated. “Your life comes before anything else, remember that.” 

“But that's not your creed. Even I know you'd never say that to one of your soldiers,” Jeongin intends to continue, but he's cut off abruptly, forcefully.

“Yes, well, you're not one of my soldiers, are you?” Minho is right, of course. Jeongin is nothing like a soldier. A soldier could hold their own in a fight. Minho has faith that they will return. Jeongin? Jeongin can barely defend himself. He's never had any formal training in fighting of any sort, not even a bodyguard to show him basic self defense. He's not meant to until he's 18, so Jeongin has been left to his own defenses. He's not politically gifted or the first born like Subin, nor is he a military prodigy and tactical genius. He's just a prince whose existence is barely known about and whose name has never even been told to the public. He's nothing special. Jeongin’s surprised Minho asked him to do this mission for him. But then he supposes it makes sense to send someone whose disappearance will hardly be noticed. 

“Can I at least have a sword?” Though Minho’s comment stings, he buries it beneath his usual disposition. This certainly isn't the first time he's asked his brother for a sword and the corners Minho’s mouth tug into a small smile.

“Now that would be far more dangerous than any trouble you can conceivably get in on this journey,” Minho teases. He stops Jeongin just outside the storeroom and reaches down to pull something from his boot. “But you can have this dagger. As tempting as it may be, don't use it unless you have to,” pushing open the door, Minho ushers Jeongin through the shelves and towards the door on the other side. 

“What do you mean ‘don't use it unless you have to?’ Isn't that the whole point of having it?” Seems stupid just to carry around a weapon if you can't even use it.

“Seungmin can explain it more because I really don't have the time right now. Father may actually kill me if I'm not on time,” Minho, becoming ever more a ball of stress by the minute, yanks open the door and pushes Jeongin out and into another person. The two stumble apart and stare at each other. “Seungmin, Jeongin. Jeongin, Seungmin. Thank you both for agreeing to this. Please get along and work hard,” Minho says all in one exhale. 

“Minho, who exactly-” 

“I'd love to talk more, but I really have to go. And so do you two if you want to make it out before the festivities.” The door slams in Seungmin and Jeongin’s faces and the two are left looking between it and each other, their one mutual connection vanishing just like that. 

 

 

Awkward silence hangs between the two of them as Seungmin’s horse plods through the quiet side streets. Jeongin looks down at his feet, thinking it better than staring at someone he knows literally nothing about, and he’s sure that Seungmin’s gaze is fixed on the road ahead of them. Normally, he thinks himself a pretty sociable person, but he’s been thrown out of his comfort zone. Seungmin is close to his age and the two of them are on equal footing, which Jeongin has not experienced aside from his own family. He’s not one to care much about status when it comes to interacting with people, but it’s still unusual for him to just be Jeongin and not Prince Jeongin. As they near the gate, the restless crowd in the square can be heard and Jeongin knows that soon cheers will ring out as well. He fights to keep himself from looking back, from looking at everything he’s leaving behind. The excitement he has to finally leave grapples with the uncertainty accompanying it and he knows that looking back will give the uncertainty the strength needed to win. But he can’t go back now. 

“So,” Seungmin clears his throat as the cart passes through the gate, “you, uh, work for Minho or something?” Thank the stars he’s taken it upon himself to break the silence between them.

“No, I,” he racks his brain for what Minho suggested he say, “I work in the royal library. But I see the Second Prince sometimes.” Working in the library is good cover for him, as he spends a good deal of his time there anyway. Jeongin knows that it’s better to keep everything vague so his lies can’t trip him up, but he doesn’t want to be too transparent either. “How do you know the prince? You’re not from the Capital or anything.” Seungmin shrugs.

“My mentor had a deal with him and I just kind of picked it up when I took over.” He side eyes Jeongin. “And you don’t have to be so formal: just call him Minho.” Jeongin blinks at Seungmin. He knows his brother doesn’t particularly care what people call him, but he was always taught that the royal family is meant to be addressed properly, even if it isn’t to their face.

“But that isn’t… proper.” Seungmin makes a sound akin to laughter.

“So? It isn’t like he’s out here to care.” He rolls his eyes at Jeongin. “You and Woojin will get along like a house on fire at this rate; he’s always telling me the same thing.” Right. Woojin. Jeongin doesn’t know much about him other than that he’s a blacksmith and that he’ll be apprenticing under him. Supposedly Minho knows him, but when he’d asked Minho what Woojin was like he’d been no help whatsoever. Seungmin must be closer to him. “Aren’t kids your age all about disrespect and rebelling?”  _ You’re not much older than me _ , Jeongin wants to say, but instead he furrows his brows. Are they? He’s never really given much thought to it nor wanted to rebel, unless skipping his lessons counts. Jeongin’s always been rather content so there’s never been a point to it. But should he? Did Seungmin? Did his brothers? He can’t recall much aside from an increase in their arguments, but they’ve always been like that. “You’ll get wrinkles if you keep doing that.” A poke to his forehead is all it takes to bring Jeongin back to his initial thoughts.

“What’s Woojin like?” He blurts in response. Seungmin hums in thought, tilting his head this way and that.

“He’s like the big brother you never had.” 

“I have two.” Seungmin looks unamused by his comment, but Jeongin raises his open palms in a shrug. He’s just being honest.

“Fine - he’s the big brother you always wanted,” Seungmin sighs. “He’s a very warm person. Even just his aura seems comforting. He’s a good listener and he’s patient and he always knows what to say to you. I think Woojin likes taking care of people.” He pauses and scratches his head. “Or at least he’s like that to me; I can’t speak for everyone though.” Seungmin studies Jeongin thoughtfully. “I think he’ll like you, at any rate. How old are you?”

“17 Turns,” Jeongin says slowly, “Why does it matter?”

“Just wondering. Don’t let him tease you for it too much. He calls  _ me _ ‘kid,’ and I’m only four Turns younger. I want to know if he’ll do the same to you, since you’re even younger than I am.”

“Could’ve fooled me.” The words are light, said in jest.

“Sorry?”

“You look too young to be an adult. I wouldn’t say you’re much older than I am.” Jeongin already feels more comfortable with Seungmin. Just having talked this brief amount has given him the confidence to tease him a bit. “I understand why Woojin calls you ‘kid.’”

“Speak for yourself. If I look your age, then you look 12.” Seungmin tosses back just as easily.

“That’s not true.” Jeongin pouts. 

“If you ordered a drink, I wouldn’t serve you.” 

“Come on, I look 13 at least.”

“Maybe if you scowled more…”

“What’s that got to do with anything? The wrinkles?” 

“Have you ever met someone in their 13th Turn? They’re  _ mean _ . I gave one a discount once and with the look he gave me you’d think I killed his cat or something. I’m telling you: it’s a nasty age. You look too nice to be 13.” Jeongin looks at Seungmin with a wounded expression. “It’s a  _ compliment _ , Jeongin. Better to look too nice than too mean.” Seungmin grimances slightly. “On second, thought, maybe it isn’t. At least no one wants to mess with you when you look mean.”

“So are you complimenting me or not? Have you decided?” Seungmin glares at Jeongin.

“I really don’t think your ego needs that.”

 

 

Weather wise, the Eighth Cycle is often the most unpleasant. Though later Cycles bring snow, rain, and unpleasant chills, Jeongin would take them all over the oppressive humidity that’s overrun the entire kingdom. The Capital is usually more mild when it comes to weather, but the Eighth Cycle is known to be much hotter there than in the districts, with the farther districts in particular known for being blessed with cooler temperatures. This, however, does not seem to be the case. Jeongin is just as hot miles away from the Capital as he was in it. Even the breezes are uncomfortably warm. He supposes it could be worse. He could have to actually move around rather than simply sit on a cart and watch the scenery go by. Not that Jeongin finds that much consolation; he’s still sweating his ass off. 

“Hey, Seungmin?” Jeongin brings his sleeve to his forehead.

“Yeah?” Seungmin wears a look of misery than Jeongin’s sure can be found on his face as well.

“District Seven is one of the cooler districts right?” Jeongin remembers reading about it at some point. 

“I guess.” Jeongin is about ready to cheer in relief when Seungmin sends his hope plummeting. “But my town is on the coast and it’s even more humid there.” He must see the disappointment in Jeongin’s eyes because he smiles apologetically. “Sorry. If it makes it any better, it would be chilly any other time of year.” It doesn’t.

“Out of the all the towns in the whole damn district, you just had to be born in the one on the coast.” Alright, maybe Jeongin is sort of excited to see Aramoor. He can’t let Seungmin know that though. He has a reputation to uphold with him.

“Hey, it’s not like I asked to be born there anymore than you asked to be born in the Capital,” Seungmin huffs. “And Aramoor isn’t the only town on the coast, it’s just the biggest one. Be grateful I’m not taking you to some tiny fishing village with a population of 20 people. You don’t know the meaning of boredom ‘til you’ve been in one of those for more than a few hours.”

“I don’t know… I think I’m getting a pretty good idea of it right now.” Seungmin’s stares at him in slack-mouthed offense.

“Well, you’re free to walk anytime,” he huffs.

“You can’t make me,” Jeongin folds his arms and leans back, a smug smile nestling onto his face.

“Oh?” Seungmin looks him dead in the eyes, unblinking. “You wanna bet?” Jeongin leans back, face morphing into a mix of surprise and concern. There’s nothing but the thud of hoofbeats for a moment and then Seungmin throws back his head and laughs. “I’m kidding, Jeongin. I wouldn’t kick you out… probably.”

“All right, well, I’m just going to shut up then.” He’s still trying to figure Seungmin out. Jeongin can’t pretend that he can read him at all. He’s pretty sure most of what Seungmin says to him is meant to be playful, but sometimes he can’t be sure. Seungmin’s face just gets so serious it’s almost scary. You’d think they’d be closer, considering that they’ve spent literally every waking moment together for the past few days, but neither of them seems to really want to take a conversation past teasing. It’s as though they’re both holding each other at arm’s length and it makes Jeongin uncomfortable just to think about. There’s always a sort of tension in him when he’s with Seungmin. It isn’t that Jeongin doesn’t trust him - he kind of has to - it’s just that he doesn’t think he could confide in Seungmin. And that’s what he thinks would really make the two of them friends rather than acquaintances. That’s all Jeongin wants, if he’s being honest. He’s never truly had anyone he’d call a friend before.

It’s this that Jeongin doesn’t think people realize about the royal family, especially the princes: they’re lonely. Jeongin most of all. Subin knows anyone who’s anyone and can strike up a conversation with even the most random of people. He’s friendly, or seems it, by nature -even if he wasn’t it would have been trained into him by now - and he’s started choosing people he wants on his counsel. If they aren’t already close to him, they will be before long. Despite all this, Jeongin’s never seen Subin truly spend time with anyone outside of his duties. He mentioned it to Minho once and had received the explanation that Subin was “friend to many, friend of none.” It’s a phrase that’s stuck with him and every so often he feels a little bad for his eldest brother. But then he sees him charming yet another crowd with his speeches and he knows there’s no need to. Subin likes his life as it is and he thrives in it. Jeongin’s pretty sure he actually likes his “friend to many, friend of none status.” It’s very fitting for him.

Minho is a different case. Unlike Subin and Jeongin, who had no real way to make friends when they were young, Minho had plenty of opportunity. He’d been practically raised with the military and the soldiers, to the point that Jeongin can’t remember a time that Minho  _ wasn’t _ with them. Perhaps the soldiers couldn’t be called Minho’s friends until he was a teenager, but knows that Minho considered them such. They probably only entertained his conversations because no one wanted to be the asshole to tell a young child to shut up, but kids don’t know much better. When he was older and closer in age with a lot of the new trainees, Minho had made  _ real _ friends. At the time, friends based on equal standing. Then his 18th birthday had come and Jeongin never heard talk of them again, nor any others since. But then, he’s become so guarded it would be nearly impossible to form a bond with someone. Jeongin hates that he watched it happen; that he watched his formerly content and nearly exuberant brother turn cold. He never wants to be like that. He will not choose to be alone. Now he has the chance to act on that.

“Hey, Seungmin,” Jeongin’s voice is quieter than he means it to be, almost too serious for the situation.

“Hm?”

“What’s your favorite color?” 

“My favorite color?” Seungmin’s tone is tinged with amusement, but he doesn’t sound like he plans to make fun of Jeongin. “I don’t know… I think it depends on the day.”

“But if you had to pick one?” Does he sound too insistent? Jeongin hopes not. He just wants to know more about Seungmin as a Seungmin rather than as a person he met not even a week ago.

“I like green, I guess. What about you, Jeongin?” It’s kind of exhilarating to be just “Jeongin.” Not “Your Highness” or “Prince Jeongin” or anything like that. For the first time, he’s just like everybody else.

“Red.” He’s quick to respond. Red has always been his representative color, just like purple is Subin’s and blue is Minho’s, and Jeongin’s formed a certain attachment to it. It’s the sort of color to make you stand out, and he likes that about it. Seungmin nods and seems content to let the silence hang between them again, but Jeongin is not. “So are we seeing your family in Aramoor?” At this Seungmin’s face falls a bit.

“Not exactly,” he chews his lip, contemplating something. “We’re going to see my mentor, but he’s the closest thing I have to family left so I guess in a way we are.” 

“How come?” Jeongin claps a hand over his mouth, the words flying out before he could think. “Sorry, you don’t have to answer that.”

“No, it’s okay,” Seungmin runs his thumb over the reins. “My mom died when I was a baby and my dad died a few years ago. I haven’t got any siblings.” Jeongin frowns. He can’t imagine not having his family. Sure, he doesn’t see them often, but they’re still  _ there _ . Seungmin must catch his frown because he quickly adds, “Don’t feel bad for me. I’ve still got the old man, after all. He’s kind of like a grandfather to me; I haven’t been left completely to my own devices.” His faces brightens a bit, though obviously some of his earlier cheer has been lost. “You said you have brothers, right?”

“Oh. Yeah.” Jeongin wonders if should have said that. Is it too obvious? Lots of people have brothers, sure, but that plus his connection to Minho? He should have lied.

“What’s that like?” Perhaps Jeongin is just overthinking and it really isn’t that obvious. Seungmin doesn’t sound suspicious, just curious. 

“It’s nothing special. We’re not all that close, but they’re nice enough to me. I think they treat me too much like a baby though.” His face wrinkles at the thought.

“I always wanted siblings,” Seungmin says wistfully.  _ And I wanted to be an only child _ , Jeongin manages to bite back. It isn’t true anyway. He can’t really picture himself without his brothers around. “Is there a big age gap between you guys or something?”

“What do you consider a big age gap?”

“6 Turns? I don’t know.”

“Then sort of. I mean, the oldest is more than 7 Turns older. The other one’s just over 3.” Jeongin can almost sense Seungmin’s next question. “I don’t think it’s entirely the age difference. That’s probably some of it, but at the end of the day we just all have different personalities and interests. And nowadays we’re doing our own things anyway. It’s hard to spend time together when you’re all busy.” Jeongin knows he’s not a great liar, which is why he’s trying to keep things as close to the truth as he can. He’s not lying so much as telling a very vague truth, so later on, if Seungmin finds out who he really is, maybe he won’t be so angry. “But enough about my dumb brothers. They’re not the ones on this trip.” Seungmin chuckles.

“Okay then…. Favorite animal?” 

“Dogs. Don’t look at me like that, they’re great animals.”

“Whatever you say, kid. Just seems like a very basic answer.”

“You’re a basic answer,” Jeongin grumbles, pouting at Seungmin.

“Yikes. We have  _ got _ to work on your comebacks, kid.” It’s so easy to slip back into their banter and though Jeongin still barely knows Seungmin, he feels some of the tension bleed out of him. Maybe they really will be friends after this.

  
  


Jeongin really should be sleeping. He knows he should. There's nothing but moonlight and cicadas keeping him company now, Seungmin having long since entered dreams. But Jeongin just can't. He never used to have trouble sleeping, not until he left home. At first it was because he was afraid of getting kidnapped or something, which has yet to happen and after a few nights it became only a tiny concern, but now it's something else entirely and he doesn't know what to do. The truth is, Jeongin is homesick. As much as he doesn't want to admit it to himself, he knows that he is. It's easier to ignore during the day when he has Seungmin to joke around with, but at night he doesn't have that luxury. It's like a crushing weight has been placed on his chest and he can hardly breathe lest he finally crush his heart and break. He thought it would get better if he gave it time. It hasn't. It's only gotten worse, threatening to spring out even when he and Seungmin talk. Seeing how he talks about Aramoor, his  _ home _ , reminds Jeongin of all the things he's left behind and it stings. He sees the palace, his room, his bed. And then, the final blow: he sees his family. It all becomes too much for him.

He tries to be quiet as he sneaks off, but it's hard to tell if he's succeeded. There's a dull throbbing in his head and everything feels foggy. Teeth dig into his lip and a hand covers his mouth to keep from crying as he stumbles through the trees. Jeongin doesn't get very far though. The dam breaks before he can and he lets himself sink to the ground, his cheeks wet like the dewey grass beneath him. Kneeling, eyes trained on the ground, he's somehow able to keep his sobs in and his tears fall into his hands silently, accompanied only by the shaking of his back. Maybe it's not so bad after all, he thinks, maybe he all he needs is a little cry and it'll all go away. Then he can enjoy himself like he always told himself he would. 

But then there are soft footsteps behind him and a quiet, “Jeongin?” Jeongin looks at Seungmin with puffy eyes and wet cheeks, nose runny and lip quivering, and he's obviously not okay. Worry fills Seungmin’s face. “Is something wrong?” He knows the answer - anyone with a brain would know the answer - but he asks nonetheless. Jeongin shakes his head, he wants to say “no,” but the second he opens his mouth the sobs he's held back wrench themselves from his throat and he's crying for real, chest heaving and vision too blurry to even see Seungmin. 

“Oh, Jeongin,” Seungmin kneels in front of him and Jeongin’s head falls to his shoulder, all strength gone. A warm hand lays on his back, another holds the back of his head and runs through his hair. “Please tell me what's wrong, Jeongin. Please don't hold it in.” The words are a mere whisper and Seungmin sounds so sincerely worried that it only makes Jeongin cry harder. 

“I'm s-s-sorry,” he sputters into Seungmin’s shirt. The pressure of the hands increases.

“Don't be sorry. Not for this. It's okay to cry, Jeongin. It's okay to be upset about things.” This is whispered as well, but there's more force behind it, as though Seungmin is convincing himself too. “And it's okay to lean on someone. You can't handle everything by yourself and you shouldn't have to. Please, talk to me.” 

“It’s stupid,” Jeongin lifts his head from Seungmin’s shoulder and sniffs, trying to keep back a fresh wave of sobs. Seungmin pats removes his hand from Jeongin head and pats at his pockets, presumably looking for a handkerchief.

“I’m sure that isn’t true,” Seungmin’s other hand runs up and down his back and he hands Jeongin the handkerchief he was looking for. “It isn’t stupid if it upsets you.” Jeongin runs his sleeve over his eyes and blows his nose. He must be a sight to see right now.

“I just… miss everything so much,” hot tears sting his eyes again, “I miss the Capital and I miss my home and I-” he pauses because he’d never thought he’d say this but, “I miss my family.” Seungmin pulls him into a gentle hug, as though sensing Jeongin’s increasing distress. “I miss them so fucking much.” He returns the hug tightly, clutching Seungmin like a child might a stuffed animal, his hands bunching the fabric of Seungmin’s shirt, knuckles white. Seungmin doesn’t say anything, just lets Jeongin bawl into his shoulder again and occasionally murmurs soft “shh”s like his parents used to do when the monsters under his bed would terrorize him. Surely Seungmin will get tired of this, will push Jeongin away at some point, but he doesn’t. He lets him cry and cry and cry until Jeongin can’t anymore and only moves his arms when Jeongin’s fall slack. It’s quiet save his sniffles.

“I used to get really homesick too.” Jeongin’s eyes widen slightly. “I left Aramoor for the first when I was about your age and I thought everything would be wonderful and amazing, but all it was was lonely and scary. I even missed the smell of the fish market. Crazy, I know,” Seungmin laughs softly, “Who would miss the smell of dead fish? I would’ve given anything to have a tiny bit of home, just so not everything was new. Homesickness sucks, there’s no other way to put it, and I wish you didn’t have to experience it. But, eventually things get better; it isn’t so new anymore and you sort of get used to it.” 

“How do you make it stop?” Jeongin’s voice is thick. Seungmin gives him a small shrug.

“I wish I knew. Sometimes you just have to cry it out and distract yourself for a while.” He lets out a soft sigh. “Honestly, I don’t know if it ever really goes away. I’ve been travelling for nearly two Turns now and I still miss Aramoor every time I leave. But it does become more bearable, Jeongin, believe me. If I can do it, then you can too; you’re strong, even if you don’t think you are.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> lmao so maybe it wasn't entirely a break from angst but honestly when I was planning the chapter it was meant to be light and fun the whole time... and then I realized I couldn't write that. Anyway thanks All Of My Life by Park Won for getting my braincells working again


	10. X. The Barrier

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Enter: Changbin

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> we're finally at 8/9 introduced !!!

 

_Changbin is nine Turns the first time he sees people outside of the Barrier. He’s out in the far gardens tending to the blueburns when he first hears the sound of muffled voices nearby and leaps up with excitement. He follows the noise curiously, getting closer to the Barrier than he ever has before, until he sees where the voices are coming from. Two boys are in the grass on the Other Side, one running straight towards the Barrier, the other holding back hesitantly and calling out for the first to stop. Even through the haze of the Barrier, Changbin can tell that they’re quite young, maybe younger even than he is._

_Amazed by his first glimpse of life on the Other Side, Changbin stands transfixed as the first boy turns to beckon the other one forward, then takes off running again, route adjusted so he’s moving parallel to the Barrier instead of directly towards it. The other boy follows soon after, and Changbin watches wide-eyed as he quickly gets himself tangled in the tall grasses and stumbles dangerously close to the Barrier, before the ground slips under his feet and he goes tumbling down a small hill._

_Changbin steps forward worriedly and peers down from the top of the hill where it extends within the Barrier, sees him sit up by the river, relatively unhurt, and lets out a small breath. Then, while the boy turns to shout up the hill, Changbin tries to figure out if the hair plastered to his warm skin is brown or black. Changbin has settled on brown by the time the other boy appears just a few paces away from him, looking like he's just seen a ghost._

_“Felix, did you fall? Are you okay?”_

_“Yeah, but I’m all right, Jisung.”_

_“Okay.” He pauses. “Come on, we should get out of here now. Dad might notice we’re missing soon.”_

Brothers _, Changbin thinks to himself while Felix scrambles to his feet and clambers up the hill towards Jisung._

_They leave quickly after that, though Felix seems as hesitant to leave as he had been to arrive, and Changbin stands still, watching them go._

 

_One Cycle later, while Changbin is gathering water at the river, he’s suddenly struck with the distinct feeling that he isn't alone anymore. He turns to see if there’s someone approaching from the Quarters behind him, but there is no one. He’s puzzled for a moment before a small rush of excitement floods through him and he spins forward again, looking up from the water and through the Barrier. His suspicions are confirmed when he sees a figure emerge from the woods on the Other Side. As the figure nears, Changbin can see it’s Felix, and he isn't at all surprised that Jisung - who had been so anxious to leave before - isn’t the one who has returned._

_Felix picks his way through the tall grasses and maneuvers around the bramble that grows up along the outside edge of the Barrier, stumbles down the hill he'd fallen down before, and comes to a stop just before he reaches the stream. Changbin watches as he looks around, catching the wonder in his eyes, even through the distortion of the Barrier, as he stares at the bright water and the blueburns that have spread to the Other Side. After a moment, Felix steps towards the flowers, and Changbin freezes. He knows the repulsion of the Barrier is strong, but Felix is already so close that all he has to do is move another step or two closer and reach out a hand to push through. Felix doesn’t move any closer, but Changbin still holds his breath until Felix has taken a step back and settled down by the stream, shoes kicked off and legs in the clear water._

_When it seems like nothing else will happen, and Changbin remembers that he has a job he’s supposed to be doing, he turns away, only to snap his head up again at the sound of Felix's voice._

_“I can't believe Jisung didn't want to come back here,” he says so softly Changbin barely catches it through the Barrier. For half a heart-stopping moment - before he realizes Felix is just talking to himself - he thinks Felix is somehow speaking to him. “It can't be because he's worried about getting in trouble with Dad, because that's never stopped him before.” Felix pauses to think before continuing on. “Maybe he saw something scary in the Deadwoods . . . but he's not scared of anything.” Felix groans, throws his hands in the air, and lays down in the grass. “I don't know.” He falls silent after that, and when his eyes close and Changbin assumes he's fallen asleep, he shakes his head and busies himself with his original task once more._

 

_Felix shows up again just a few days later, talking to himself even more this time, going on about having to take over Jisung’s work at home while his brother starts working as a delivery boy. “It's because he’s got so much energy. And everyone likes him.” Changbin listens with interest while he works, and, when he’s completed every task that keeps him close enough to hear Felix’s ramblings, heads home with more knowledge, but still more curiosity about the Other Side than he’s ever had before._

_Felix comes to his spot by the stream regularly after that, and babbles almost as much as the water. One day it’s: “I wonder when mom will come back to visit. She hasn't been home in a while,” and the next: “Jisoo won't stop talking to me when I'm trying to plant the rice. I wish she'd trade chores with Sunwoo, he's too small to help their dad with the pigs yet anyway. Jisung said she keeps trying to distract me because she likes me, but I don't know. I don't get girls.” Every day it’s something absolutely mundane, but every day it’s still enough to fascinate Changbin._

_Soon the cold Season comes on the Other Side. The sky grows dark in the sun’s weak light, the stream freezes over, the blueburn petals turn hard like ice, and Felix visits less often. The cold Season is not Changbin’s favorite._

_A few Cycles later, the cold seems to be loosening its grasp on the Other Side, and Felix’s visits become much more frequent again. Changbin gets used to seeing him nearby while he’s working in the gardens, or catching a glimpse of him while he’s out and about. He mentions him to Chan once, but Chan has already seen enough people near the Barrier before that he doesn’t think it’s nearly as interesting as Changbin does._

_Time passes. Changbin travels farther from his Quarters. He sees new people on the Other Side, but all of them from a distance, and never more than once. Felix remains the only person he ever sees regularly, the only one he ever hears speak, and the only one who ever gets close enough for Changbin to actually see his face. It means a little more to him than reason says it probably should, and without entirely realizing, he grows awfully attached to a person he’s never actually, properly met, a person logic says he’ll never be able to reach through the wall separating them. As it turns out, though, reason and logic don’t always matter._

 

Ten Turns later, sometime in the Other Side’s hot season, the windows in Changbin’s Quarters are open. Cool night air pours into the small living space and onto Changbin’s skin as he drums his fingers against the light wood of the floor. He’s splayed out on the ground beneath his table, humming under his breath and trying to pretend he isn’t bored out of his mind. Chan is busy with another one of the frequent meetings all the Heads of Regions have to attend, so Changbin has been alone with nothing but his latest failed blueburn potion and his thoughts for two days now, and it isn’t going well. He _knows_ this one should have worked, but something keeps going wrong. At this point, he’s stopped telling Chan about all his latest attempts, and chalked his one successful recipe up to beginner’s luck. _At least it’s better than nothing,_ he thinks to himself, but it does little to comfort him. Eventually, he can’t stand being alone in his Quarters with his thoughts anymore and slips out from under the table, pushing himself up to his feet so he can escape the confines of his house, and, hopefully, his mind.

Stepping outside doesn’t help right away, but the farther he gets from the light emanating out of all the windows near him, the clearer his head gets. “Maybe I just need to try something totally different,” he says aloud, since he knows it will be heard by no one but the night’s breeze. “There must be something about the current process that’s draining the potency instead of increasing it like the first one . . . if I could just figure out what.” He can see the glow of the blueburns just ahead of him now; his feet must have carried him to the source of his worries without him realizing. “They’re strong enough alone to ease pain, and after making a healing draught, a sleeping potion shouldn’t be that hard, so why can’t I get it right?” Changbin is just shy of the blueburns now, pacing back and forth in the faint light of the luminescent flowers. It hasn’t been all that long since he even started experimenting with the blueburns, but he can’t help his impatience; he wants to actually accomplish something on his own, with just his mind and no _crutches_ like everyone else seems perfectly content to rely on.

He’s about to resume his brainstorming when something catches his eye and drags him away from his thoughts. There’s a flicker of orange light on the other side of the Barrier that looks quite a bit like fire, and Changbin’s eyes are drawn to it right away, but he’s so focused on watching the flame wave in the darkness that he doesn’t see the bodies accompanying it until it’s too late.

A crack like thunder snaps through the night air and Changbin feels it shake his whole body down to his bones. His stomach drops to his feet and he whips his head around so fast he almost pulls something in his neck. That feeling - like being electrified, but stronger - is something he’s only experienced once before, and that was the day, sixteen turns ago by now, that the Barrier had first been breached.

The first raindrops hit his arms, but he doesn’t register them any more than the muffled shouting coming from outside the Barrier. He’s finally spotted the body laying crumpled in the blueburns, and is running as fast as he can towards it. He can’t believe this is happening, and then he reaches the body, and he _really_ can’t believe it.

“Felix?”

He blinks rain out of his eyes to make sure he’s seeing clearly, but when he opens them again, the body is still there, and it’s still exactly who he thinks it is. Changbin kneels down in the blueburns to get a closer look, and to make sure Felix is still breathing. His chest is rising and falling, but the movements aren’t smooth, so he presses his fingers lightly to Felix’s neck to check his pulse. It’s there for sure, but it’s jumpy and erratic and Changbin knows that’s not a good sign. His brows furrow as he tries to figure out the best thing to do. _You’re supposed to wake someone up if they’ve been knocked out, right? There’s no way_ _Felix has just_ happened _to break through the repulsion of the Barrier at the same time there are people shouting and running through the woods on the Other Side. There’s also no way he just decided to take a nap here in the flowers._ Changbin hesitates though; Felix doesn’t know him, he definitely doesn’t know where he is, and something terrible probably just happened for him to end up like this, so Changbin doesn’t know how he’ll react to being awakened. He bounces back and forth between the two choices briefly before throwing caution to the wind. The worst thing that could happen now is Felix dying, not being confused or frightened when Changbin wakes him up, so he makes his decision.

He puts a steadying hand on Felix’s head to make sure he doesn’t jostle it, and, with his free hand, shakes his body. He calls Felix’s name a few times too, increasing the volume each time, until he sees his eyelids start to move. Relieved, Changbin lifts his hand from Felix’s chest to pluck a blueburn from the ground next to him. When he looks back to Felix, his face is screwed up and his eyes are half-open, unfocused.

“My head,” he mumbles, voice wavering, “everything hurts.”

Changbin nods though he knows Felix is looking at the cloudy sky, not him. “Felix,” he says softly, “this will help with the pain. It doesn’t taste great, but your head won’t hurt as much if you try it.”

Felix’s eyes drift closer to him, but they stay glassy. Then his head moves the slightest bit in what Changbin hopes is a nod and not a flinch away from the raindrops hitting his face, and Changbin presses the petals of the blueburn to Felix’s lips.

“Come on,” he says when Felix makes no move to try the flower that’s supposed to he easing his pain, “this will make it better.” The hand he has on Felix’s forehead slips down to his cheek, and he realizes it’s shaking slightly as he nudges Felix’s mouth with his thumb, trying to get it to open. Finally, Felix’s lips part enough for a few of the petals to drop in, and Changbin tucks the rest into his pocket. The pained look on Felix’s face starts to soften after a moment, but his eyes begin to drift closed again as well.

“Felix, I need you to stay awake.” Changbin makes sure Felix’s eyes are open before leaning away for a moment, wiping rain out of his eyes, and trying to figure out what he should do next. Felix’s pain should be numbed soon, but his injuries won’t be affected by the blueburns. What he needs right now is to be healed, but Changbin doesn’t want to risk alerting anyone to Felix’s presence within the Barrier by asking for help, so he can only come to one conclusion; he has to bring Felix back to his Quarters and brew a healing draught for him.

So, he braces his legs, tucks one arm under Felix’s legs and the other under his neck and lifts him up as gingerly as possible. Felix lets out a small sound of surprise and tenses in Changbin’s arms, his eyes more open and alert than they’ve been this whole time. “Wha-” he cuts himself off with a grimace Changbing assumes is the result of a flash of pain, and his head rolls into Changbin’s shoulder.

“Try not to move, okay? It’ll still hurt for a little bit.” Changbin says, twisting his arm so he can keep Felix’s head from moving any more. He talks absently while he picks his way through the rain and back to his Quarters in an attempt to keep Felix awake, throwing in a _“Keep your eyes open, okay, Felix?”_ when he’s halfway home. Once he makes it safely inside, he kicks the door closed behind him and sets Felix down on the sleep mat as carefully as he can. “Just stay awake a little longer.” Changbin drapes a blanket over Felix to make sure he doesn’t catch cold after being soaked by the rain, and hurries to the adjoining room, where he pulls the blueburn out of his pocket and gets to work.

The petals take so long to dissolve that his legs start shaking impatiently while he waits. He agitates the developing solution, eyes wandering back to the other room to check on Felix, who hasn’t moved from his spot. Changbin hopes that’s a good thing. He turns back in time to see the last of the petals melt away and a spattering of bubbles float up and fizz out when they hit air. This is his sign to really get started, and he buries himself in the work until the liquid is just the right shade of translucent violet. He can tell it’s still hot, but it’s finally ready, so he fills a vile and brings it with him back into the other room.

He settles down on the floor near his sleep mat and looks down at Felix while the vial cools in his hand. His eyes are barely open anymore, but Changbin needs him to stay awake just a little while longer so he can take the healing draught when it’s ready, so he waves a hand in front of Felix’s face to keep him focused on something other than slipping back out of consciousness. The movement catches his eyes, and they open a bit, though they still lack any semblance of focus.

“You’re going to be okay now, Felix. Just stay with me long enough to take this and then you can sleep. You’ll be all better when you wake up.”

Felix doesn’t say anything, but his eyes stay open, if hazy, until the vial in Changbin’s hand is cool enough to the touch that it won’t burn going down. It’s a little easier to get Felix to drink from the vial than it was to get him to take the blueburn petals earlier, and once he’s downed it, Changbin watches his eyes fall shut with a sense of relief. It’s strange, really; he has no idea what happened to Felix or how the hell he ended up _inside_ the Barrier, and he should probably be worried, _really worried,_ about it, but he feels like he’s suddenly reverted back to his nine-turn-old self, and his worries are shoved far into the back of his mind. Felix, the same boy who has been existing in the very corner of his life, just outside of his world for ten Turns, is actually _here._ He’s not on the outside anymore.

Now that he’s not obscured by the Barrier or the dark of the night, Changbin can see that the angles of Felix’s face are much sharper than he’d thought. He has freckles dusted across his nose and cheeks, and they’re nice, pretty, but painted red and purple by the bruises blooming on his skin and the traces of something that looks enough like blood to make Changbin’s throat tighten a bit. His theory that something terrible had driven Felix through the Barrier now seems a lot more solid. Worry washes over him and he’s tempted, briefly, to reach out. Then he blinks and feels water sprinkle down his face and remembers that he’s still drenched from the rain, and that staring at Felix while he sleeps is definitely a little weird and something he shouldn’t be doing. He jumps to his feet quickly at this realization and backpedals into the adjoining room to change into dry clothes and shake out his still-dripping hair. When he’s done, the new warmth envelopes him in a soft blanket of drowsiness, so he rummages through his things until he finds the extra sleep mat he keeps around. He lays it out near his table - a good distance away from where the first sleep mat is - and is settling in to sleep when he remembers that Felix is still soaking wet.

Sighing, he climbs to his feet again, heads back to where Felix is sleeping, and deliberates. Taking the wet clothes off is absolutely out of the question, but he feels guilty thinking about leaving Felix the way he is now, so that really only leaves him with one option. He’s not thrilled by it.

Kneeling down by the sleep mat, he rests his palms on the blanket covering Felix. _All right, let’s do this,_ he thinks, _it’s just a little water. No big deal._ He closes his eyes and tries to focus on the liquid seeping up into the blanket, down through every all the fabric beneath it. After a moment, it focuses sharply in his mind and everything else slips into the background. He can barely hear the rain pounding down on the roof above him anymore. All he can feel is the water under his hands. He takes a deep breath, screws his face up, and then _pushes_. He feels the same tugging, crushing sensation in his chest that comes every time he tries this. The air rips free from his lungs and he feels like he’s tearing himself apart, but it’s working. The water picks up, shivers, and runs. As soon as he can’t feel it anymore, Changbin stops.

His eyes open slowly and his arms drop away from the blanket, heavy like the rest of his limbs. Exhaustion crashes over him where previously there had only been drowsiness, and he drags himself back to his own sleep mat before collapsing into its soft, warm welcome. His eyes fall shut again and he sinks into sleep without consideration of what would happen in the morning if Felix were to wake up before him.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> lmk what y'all think abt this pls !!!! i'm curious bc so much got revealed and Felix is finally back!!!


	11. XI. Party on the Outside, Business on the Inside

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Minho just _loves_ parties

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> everybody say thank you miss flame of love for this monster of a chapter
> 
> also for a more clear ref [this](http://file.osen.co.kr/article/2017/05/28/201705281719777948_592a88a71e98e.jpg) is what I was envisioning when I was describing Minho's jacket, but like with different colors
> 
> for the diadems (y'all it took me so long to figure out that that's what they were called) [this](https://a.1stdibscdn.com/archivesE/upload/v_46/12_15/l_vict_laurel_diadem_2/l_vict_laurel_diadem_2_l.jpeg) and [this](https://ericaelizabeth.com/wp-content/uploads/2016/01/ee_img_0343.jpg) were what I used as a ref, but with alterations to fit what I was going for

If there’s one thing Minho has always been exceptional at, it’s playing his part. As someone who isn’t so naturally gifted at politics and navigating the intricacies of court life, nor someone who particularly cares about any of it, he’s always been forced to wear the mask of someone who is the opposite. This Minho takes interest in politics and court gossip. He knows who’s who and exactly how their alliance might be advantageous. He knows the nobles to avoid, to keep an eye on, and to suck up to. He cares about these parties and, if you ask him, there is no place he would rather be. This Minho can make wonderful speeches, full of flowery language, and smile cheerfully for hours and hours. He is a far cry from the Minho in the mirror right now in every way possible.

Minho looks, to put it simply, like shit. And he feels it too. He’s never had to actually act like a prince for so long and it’s draining him unlike anything he’s ever had to do. Minho likes to think that if he plays his part well enough, even he may begin to believe it. But he hasn’t before, and he certainly doesn’t now. He can practically see the cracks in the facade he’s created, having virtually no time to repair them. Aside from the festivities of the past hebdomad, which have lasted from sunrise until past sundown, he’s also been doing as much work as he can for the military. Never one to leave paperwork undone - not to mention the mess spreading through the districts - he’s slept less than ever in recent days, which isn’t much to begin with. It shows too. Usually that’s fine - he’s used to the sleepless nights and the dark bags under his eyes - but Minho rarely sees anyone outside the military and they don’t care much about how he looks. In court, however, that matters. He’ll brush it off if anyone comments, though as today is (finally) Subin’s birthday, most of the attention should be on his brother. Minho is maybe a little too glad that the festivities will be over. It’s selfish, he knows, because he’s not so much excited that it’s Subin’s birthday as he is that he can stop pretending that he’s enjoying himself. If it’s possible to pull a cheek muscle, Minho is sure he has.

“Your Highness?” A soft knock at the door draws Minho’s attention away from his weary reflection. Slowly he stands, trying to free himself from the heavy feeling that seems to have grabbed ahold of him, and grabs his jacket from the chair he’s hung it on. It’s a fine thing - a gorgeous deep blue velvet with gold patterns all over it, black cuffs and a black collar, and his crest just over his heart - but the resignation that comes with it is not so pleasant. With every button he does up, Minho feels more and more tense. 

“Please inform His Majesty that I will arrive shortly,” he calls out. The servant who has been sent to retrieve him replies with a hurried “Yes, sir” and Minho can hear them running down the hallway. With a deep breath, he grabs the diadem from his table and pulls opens his door. His side feels bare without a sword, but his father had forbidden him from wearing one during the festivities for reasons Minho will never understand. This whole hebdomad has been one of trading for him: trading his military uniform for that of a prince, his sword for a diadem, and himself for a fake. A quick glance at his watch has Minho cursing and rushing through the halls, shoving the metal band on his head unceremoniously. He doesn’t have as much time as he’d thought and if he’s late he’ll hear it from his father. Honestly, he can’t blame his father for that; he’d be upset in the king’s position too. Punctuality is important to the both of them and is perhaps one of the only traits they share. 

“Cutting it a bit close, are we?” Subin barely turns his head towards Minho, only slightly so that he can look at him comfortably. It sounds almost as though he’s chiding Minho, but Minho does not have the energy to rebuke him right now. There’s a soft click of his brother’s tongue and Minho can feel his diadem being shifted on his head and his hair being adjusted. Subin wears an almost identical one - a band decorated with laurels and tiny camellias, their family’s representative flower - though his is gold, while Minho’s is silver. When Jeongin receives his on his 18th birthday, his will be bronze. Similarly, Subin is dressed like Minho, the only difference being a purple jacket rather than a blue one. He looks as put together as he always does, not even a single hair out of place and his entire aura is one of composure. Minho can only hope he appears to have a tenth of that. After what feels like entirely too long, Subin’s hands fall away from his head, satisfied with the adjustments he’s made. He’s always been fussy about appearance.

Even from behind the closed balcony doors, the sound of the crowd can be heard. Regardless of whether the people actually care about Subin’s birthday, they do enjoy the festivities as there is plenty of food and various performances. Workers are given time off to celebrate as well, which certainly doesn’t hurt the festival’s popularity. Though, Minho is pretty sure that the crowds would be large regardless of the promise of food or time off. Despite the dissatisfaction within some of the Districts, the citizens of the Capital actually quite like the royal family. Subin in particular is adored by the people, being heralded as the pride of their territory. Honestly, Minho understands why they love him so much. It’s kind of hard not to. Subin has a certain innate poise to him and can charm almost anybody with a simple speech. He’s always been good at it, even as a child. Minho can remember more than a few occasions where Subin talked the two of them out of trouble, or, when he got older and was feeling especially spiteful for something stupid Minho had done, talked him  _ in _ trouble. Subin exudes confidence in himself and in their kingdom, which is exactly the kind of strength people admire. He has no reason not to have it; he’s been praised for practically everything from day one and he knows that their kingdom has always been a major political power. So Minho gets it, he does, even if he doesn’t understand the need for this big fuss in the first place.

In front of him, he can see his parents standing in front of the doors, heads held high, and nod to the guards. The doors swing open and the floors are awash with the gold of dawn, the clamor of the crowd instantly falling to silence. “Presenting Their Majesties King Haeil and Queen Seyeon...” rings out over the crowd and Minho watches his parents step out into the light to be met with uproarious applause and cheers. Next is Subin, who waits patiently a few steps in front of Minho, just out of view of those in the crowd. “... His Highness Crown Prince Subin…” Now it’s his brother’s turn to step onto the balcony and Minho inches ever closer. He takes a deep breath and closes his eyes. He hates heights. Has ever since he was little. Having to do this for seven days is grating on him. “...and His Highness Second Prince Minho.” Opening his eyes and doing his best to walk as confidently as the rest of his family had, Minho paints his smile on and waves to the crowds, not betraying an ounce of the fear that fights to take hold of him. 

_ “When you’re scared, look for me.”  _ Minho swallows hard as he takes his place to the left of his brother and the family bow to the crowd. He hasn’t heard that voice in a long time, so long that he’s worried that he’ll forget what it sounds like, but the familiarity is enough to bring a wave of comfort over him, though it’s tinged with heavy sadness and regret.

_ Minho has just turned four when he first meets Uncle Inseong. He’s crying, a broken toy soldier in his hands, and a self-righteous Subin hot on his heels when he bursts into his father’s office and wails out a, “Subin broke my soldier, Father.” The king rises abruptly. _

_ “Minho? You shouldn’t be in here. You know the rules.” He isn’t angry, but there is a sternness to his voice. Minho, however, is too upset to recognize it. The soldier was a gift for his third birthday and it’s one of his favorite toys. The king’s eyes flit to the door, where Subin is wisely waiting. He’s older and more cognisant of the rules and has remained outside despite his indignance at being accused of breaking the toy. “Why don’t you go talk about this with your mother?”  _

_ “She’s busy with Jeongin,” Minho sputters through tears.  _

_ “Well, I’m busy too.” The man sitting across from the king stands, causing Minho to realize that he’s there for the first time. “General Yoon, I apologize for the interruption. I will -” _

_ “No, it’s quite all right, Your Majesty.” The man crouches down until he’s nearly eye level with Minho. He looks about the king’s age, but Minho has never seen him before. Despite his general status, he doesn’t seem intimidating in the least, with kind eyes and a gentle smile. “What seems to be the problem, Your Highness?”  _

_ “He broke my toy.” Minho points accusingly at the door. _

_ “I did not! He’s lying, Father.” Subin shouts back, offended. General Yoon ignores him and instead holds out a hand. _

_ “Let me see it.” Minho hands him the soldier, broken in three pieces. The general looks it over and examines the breaks. “Nothing a little glue can’t fix and then he’ll be good as new. I can have it fixed tonight and bring it back here for you tomorrow, if it pleases Your Highness.” Minho sniffles and runs a sleeve over his runny nose, blinking at the general. The man lets out a soft laugh. “Ah, you don’t know who I am, do you?” Minho shakes his head. He doesn’t know a lot of people that work with his father. Actually, he doesn’t know a lot of people anyway. _

_ “I am General Yoon Inseong. I’m part of your father’s counsel,” he pauses, “You can just call me Uncle Inseong.”  _

_ “I’m Minho.” Inseong smiles politely at him, though he already knows who Minho is. Then, because Minho has caught sight of something interesting, “Is that a real sword?” Inseong turns his head to look at his side and nods.  _

_ “It is indeed.” _

_ “Why?” _

_ “I’m sorry?”  _

_ “Why do you have it?” Minho seems utterly fixated on the sword, toy soldier forgotten. _

_ “All soldiers have them.” At this, Minho looks back at Inseong in awe. _

_“You’re a_ ** _real_** _soldier?” Minho’s eyes no longer shine with tears, but with wonder. A real, live soldier. Not just that, but a real, live soldier_ **_talking_** _to him. Minho doesn’t think he’s ever met anyone cooler._

_ “If your father agrees to it, would you like to come see the armory tomorrow?” Inseong slowly looks over to the king. _

_ “Can I see a real sword?” Inseong nods at him and Minho claps his hands in excitement. “Please, Father? I promise I’ll be good, I promise! I’ll listen to everything Uncle Inseong says and I won’t try and play with the swords, I really won’t.” The king’s looks between his son and the general. With a sigh and a long moment of hesitation, he finally dips his head in agreement. “Thank you, Father! You’re the best.” Minho runs to him and hugs his legs and the king smiles down at him and places a hand on his head.  _

_ “Inseong, please watch out for him. He’s still young.” The king runs a hand through Minho’s hair. He’s never seen him so excited about anything before.  _

_ “Of course. He’ll be perfectly safe with me.” _

_ Inseong doesn’t discover Minho’s fear of heights until he’s 10. Most soldiers don’t ever get any higher than on horseback, so it’s never been a problem before and Minho has never thought the information relevant. He’s rather fearless in other aspects, and will certainly never back down from a dare, especially not from stupid Seongho. For whatever reason, he took a dislike to Minho the day he met him and his spent the past few months doing his very best to pick on him. Someone told him it’s because Seongho’s jealous since Minho is young, but Minho thinks that it’s just because Seongho is mean. Regardless, whenever Seongho challenges him to something, Minho just can’t say no. If he does, Seongho just calls him a coward until he gives in. If there’s one thing Minho is not, it’s a coward. So, when Seongho dared him to climb the old oak in the courtyard, obviously he accepted.  _

_ At first the climb isn’t so bad. Perhaps his desire to stick it to Seongho is greater than his fear. It isn’t until he gets to the first branch large enough for him to sit on that Minho knows that it isn’t. He makes the mistake of taking a break and looking down to stick his tongue out at Seongho and the crowd that has gathered to watch him climb. He immediately regrets the decision as the ground looks miles away. His grip on the branch tightens and he wants to go back down. Even if Seongho calls him a cowards for the rest of his life, he wants to go back down. And yet…  _

_ “Ha! Anyone can climb that high.” Minho’s jaw clenches. He knows that a lot of the trainees have climbing competitions when they’re bored. There are cuts in the bark that show the ever increasing records. Seongho doesn’t really want him just to climb the tree; he wants to embarrass him when he isn’t able to beat the record, despite how ridiculous that is because Seongho can’t either. His desire to spite Seongho arises briefly again and he returns to climbing. Though Minho isn’t as strong or as tall as the older boys, what Seongho has forgotten to take into account is that he’s significantly lighter than they are and Minho is using that to his advantage. He’s able to use branches that would never support the others and momentarily his fear takes a backseat to his puzzling over which branches will take him the highest the fastest and which he can reach. He can see the notch in the tree from the last record and realistically he could stop just above it, but Minho wants to make Seongho shut up for longer than just today. He wants to prove that just because he’s young, doesn’t mean he’s any less than the older kids. So he keeps climbing and doesn’t let himself stop to think about it until his hands begin to sting from the rough bark and he’s reached the last branch that he’s sure will support his weight. Carefully, so as to keep his balance, Minho pulls his dagger from its place by his side and makes his own mark in the tree. _

_ The spite that’s been fueling him runs out now and he truly registers how high off the ground he is. If it was miles below him before, well, he’s in the clouds now. There are shouts from below, but they seems muffled and far away. He can’t really make them out, hearing only his own pounding heartbeat in his head. _

_ “What is going on here?” Minho knows this voice. It pierces through the thick noise of the others, clear as day. Uncle Inseong sounds angry. He can’t hear the answer to the question, only Inseong. “All of you, to the armory! You’re meant to be cleaning. And you, Kim Seongho, should know better than to pick on a child. This is not the type of behavior I expect from a future soldier, especially not to a future comrade; you should be ashamed. You’re on cleaning duty for the next week.” The thudding of boots slowly fades away, though Minho can hardly hear it over his ragged breathing. “Minho, you’ve proven your point. Please come down.” _

_ “No!” He’s frozen in place, unable to make himself move. What if he falls? No, he safe as long as he stays exactly as he is.  _

_ “No? What do you mean ‘no?’ It’s dangerous up there. Get. Down.” It’s  _ **_dangerous_ ** _. Well, now he’s certainly not moving. This branch will hold him, he knows that. And up here, that’s all he knows. But Uncle Inseong doesn’t seem happy with his silence. “Minho! Now!” _

_ “I… can’t.” He’s not sure whether Inseong hears it, as he isn’t sure how loud he’s said it.  _

_ “All right,” Inseong pauses for a long moment, “Just… try looking at the tree instead of down. Focus on my voice, nothing else.” Minho doesn’t budge. “Please, you must come down.” Very slowly, Minho turns to face the bark and inches his foot down to the branch below. Inseong talks about anything he can think of, offering words of encouragement whenever Minho pauses in his descent. He stops at the first branch he’d sat on and shakes his head at Inseong.  _

_ “Uncle, I really can’t. I can’t.”  His body trembles and he’s short of breath despite not exerting himself much at all. The ground is still too far away. It’s as though he’s made no progress at all. Tears sting his eyes and Minho swallows the lump in his throat to try and keep them from spilling over.  _

_ “You can. I promise you can. Minho, look at me. Only at me. Don’t look at the ground or the branches, just look at me. Focus on me.” He does as he’s told and slowly Inseong grows larger and appears more person sized and less like the ant he’d looked like before. “Take it slow and just keep looking at me. There’s nothing else around. Just breathe.” It feels like an eternity, but Minho focuses on Inseong as much as he can and he feels much more steady than he had before, as though he’s been grounded. Still, the moment his feet touch the cobblestones can not come soon enough and he falls to his knees in relief. Inseong is by his side instantly, looking him over for any visible injury. He crouches beside a still shaking Minho and places a hand on his shoulder. “Minho, are you afraid of heights?” He asks softly. There is no anger in his eyes, which Minho had thought there would be based on his voice earlier. There is only worry. Minho bites his lip and nods in affirmation. “Why didn’t you ever tell me?” _

_ “Soldiers are supposed to be fearless,” Minho mumbles. Inseong’s brows shoot up. _

_ “Oh, Minho. All of us are afraid of something.” _

_ “Even you, Uncle?”  _

_ “Even me. Fear reminds us that we’re human. That can be important in this line of work.” Minho still doesn’t quite seem to believe him. “The thing about fear is that we’ve learned to control it, just as with everything else. You don’t have to overcome it, you just have to manage it.” If Minho were only to be a soldier, then being afraid of heights wouldn’t be a problem. The thing is, he isn’t. The royal family makes all announcements and appearances from a balcony on the palace that overlooks a huge part of the city. Fortunately, Minho still has years before he has to deal with that. _

_ “But I don’t know how to manage it.” Minho has calmed down a bit and his brows are knit together. _

_ “It’ll come as you train more.” Minho has yet to learn the stoicism the older trainees are in the process of perfecting. Inseong thinks him too young, and wants to allow him to be the expressive child he is for as long as possible. “For now, when you’re scared, look for me.” _

 

Minho finds it cruel of his brain to remind him of Uncle Inseong now. It’s been a few Turns since his death and though Minho has moved on and accepted it, he can’t say he’s been quite the same. Inseong held him together in many ways and having to bear everything in his life without the support Inseong provided has not been easy. Especially his first few court appearances. But, he’s made it on his own nonetheless, can keep up in the ever twisting dance that is the court and knows how to handle the work he has. Minho tries not to think about Inseong whenever possible for his own good. And today, he has to look like he’s having a good time. Subin is giving some speech about how thankful he is for everyone and how he promises to work hard to be an even better prince. He mentions their parents, then Minho, and Minho changes to his expression to one of gratefulness and dips his head towards his brother. He actually should thank him for today as it was originally planned for Minho to give a speech rather than Subin, but Subin had requested that he be the one to speak instead. Whatever his reason for doing it, Minho owes him one. 

 

It isn’t until several hours into the festivities that Minho is able to break away from the crowd of nobles he’s been all but trapped in and sequesters himself in a spot by the door. Though he’d normally avoid being backed into a corner, today is an exception. Most people are packed towards the center and front of the room, and those who are entering don’t really look anywhere but in front of them. Not to mention that this way he can see anyone who approaches him and can’t be ambushed by some random noble he’s never met, which has happened far too many times in the past hours. Someone will find him and rope him into another pointless conversation eventually, but for now he finally has a bit of time to himself.

“Had enough mingling already? The day is still very young.” Damn his brother. He’s too aware of people sometimes.

“I swear if I have to have one more discussion about whether or not Duke Haneul is having an affair I’m going to lose it,” Minho grumbles into his chalice.

“I thought we knew he was,” Subin raises a brow.

“Well, apparently not. I’ve had three separate people ask me what I think on the matter. Do you know how hard it is for me not to tell them exactly what I think?” He downs the remainder of his wine in one angry gulp. Subin smiles apologetically.

“I know you hate court gossip, but what else are they going to talk about? Parties are meant to be fun, not places where you talk about politics or war. Besides, I doubt many of them care about those things anyway.” He eyes Minho as he waves down a waiter with more wine on his tray. “How many of those have you had today?”

“Not nearly enough.” Subin’s disapproving look does not let up. “Oh, come on. I’m perfectly fine. Even you don’t get through these completely sober, and you actually enjoy this sort of stuff.”

“Aren’t you the one who’s all about keeping your wits about you?”

“First of all, I’m not working right now. Father made sure of that. Second of all, I know my own tolerance. And third of all, I am not a child, Subin. Do not treat me like one.” 

“What would Uncle Inseong say?” Subin knows how to hit where it hurts and Minho hates that he knows his biggest weakness. But, he’s taken it too far this time and Minho can only grit his teeth to keep from showing just how much the blow stings. Subin doesn’t need to know just how big of a weakness it is for him.

“Considering that he was the one who took me out to drink with the other soldiers when I came of age, I don’t think he’d care,” Minho says brusquely. “Unlike you, he trusted me to know my limits.”

“I do trust you,” Subin sounds almost offended by the comment, “I’ve just seen you make poor decisions. Am I not allowed to worry?”

“Is that what this is about?” Minho scoffs. “Because that was one time. It was almost three years ago. I was in pain, I felt alone, and I made a mistake. It hasn’t happened again since and I do not need a minder.”

“Sun and stars! I am not here to mind you.” Subin throws up his arms in exasperation and a passerby jumps at the sudden outburst and both brothers shoot them a glare. “Why will you not let me be concerned?” He’s regained his composure and smooths his jacket. 

“Don’t you have more important matters to concern yourself with?” Minho fires back. Subin’s brows furrow, but the pair are interrupted by someone clearing their throat. 

“I’m sorry to bother you, Your Highnesses.”

“It’s no bother, General Seo. We’re finished here,” Minho says, despite Subin clearly not being done. “What is it?”

“We’d like you to take a look at something, Sir. It seems a bit odd to us and we would like your input before proceeding.” General Seo scratches her head. She’s an incredibly capable and intuitive soldier, which is why Minho put her in charge of security for the party, so if she thinks something is odd, it probably is. He passes his goblet over to his brother and nods to her to lead the way.

“This discussion isn’t over.” Subin calls as he leaves. Minho looks over his shoulder and rolls his eyes. It very much is. He appreciates General Seo not asking about it as the two make their way to one of the back entrances of the palace.

“It seems a bit silly to be worried over and it’s probably nothing, but I thought it would be best for you to double check before we did anything.” Minho will admit that his curiosity has been piqued and that he’s a tad disappointed when the door swings open to reveal…

“Flowers?” There are dozens of vases full of flowers in various shades of pink surrounding the door and Minho will admit to being incredibly confused by them. “I assume you’ve checked for anything suspicious.” He toes at one of the vases.

“We checked all the vases for anything hidden in them and found nothing and there doesn’t appear to be any sort of poisonous powder on the flowers or the leaves. The only thing we found was a note in one of the vases.” Seo hands it to him. 

“For Crown Prince Subin, on his special day: 25 vases for 25 Turns, 7 for the Turns we’ve known you, and 7 more for good luck.” Minho reads. He flips the note over to the blank back. “No signature.”

“Anonymous gifts aren’t uncommon.” One of the soldiers pipes up and Minho hums. 

“Do we know what type of flowers they are? Are they poisonous or anything?” He picks up one of the intricately carved black vases, noting the unusual weight of it. It must be made of metal rather than glass.

“They’re azaleas.” The same soldier says and every turns to look at him. “What? My family are gardeners.” He points his chin at the flowers. “They’re only poisonous if you eat them.”

“These don’t grow around here, do they?” Minho asks the soldier, Captain Jeon.

“No, Sir,” he shakes his head, “they grow in several districts though.”

“Hm, I suppose that explains not using glass vases.” Minho places the vases back down and nods. “It certainly isn’t the usual gift, but all seems well. Have them brought inside. I’ll have the prince decide where he wants them later.” 

 

Minho has to wait until long past dinner for the last guest to leave to see his brother again. He’s been caught up in a constant buzz, making sure to speak to every guest and thank them for coming. It must be exhausting, but Subin still looks as genuine as he had at the beginning of the day. Only now, when he has a chance to catch a break does he look at all tired. So even Subin has his limits. Minho stands outside the dining room, listening for approaching footsteps. His parents leave the room first and Minho bows to them, murmuring a quiet “Goodnight.” Close behind is Subin, who seems surprised to see Minho.

“Thought you’d be at the base by now.” He continues on his path to his room and Minho walks hurriedly to catch up to him.

“I’m going right after this, but I have to talk to you first.” His brother doesn’t stop walking and Minho sighs. He’s still upset by earlier it seems. “Look, Subin, about earlier... you meant well and I shouldn’t have gotten angry at you.” His brother doesn’t even look in his direction. Minho falls behind and bites his lip. “I’m sorry.” He says softly, voice stripped of any of its usual strength. Subin stops a few feet in front and turns his head to look at Minho.

“Yeah? Me too.” There’s a wistfulness to his voice that makes Minho think he isn’t just talking about earlier, but then Subin has always had his sentimental moments. “What did you want to talk to me about?” 

“There was a gift for you earlier. I want to know what you wish to do with it.” Just like that, they’re back to how they usually are. Subin’s wistfulness is nowhere to be found and Minho’s voice has returned to how it is normally. The blanket of formality that they threw off just briefly smothers them once more. Subin nods and gestures for Minho to lead the way and the two make their way to the storeroom the flowers are stored in without another word shared between them. Subin eyes the azaleas without much interest, an unreadable expression on his face. 

“How many are there?” 

“39 vases. We didn’t waste our time counting the flowers.” Minho picks up the note from one of them and hands it to Subin. “You got something like this last Turn too, didn’t you?” His brother skims the note then looks back at the flowers.

“Orchids,” Subin confirms, “I never found out who gave me those either. I suppose I’m popular among floriculturists.” Minho shoots him a look and Subin shrugs, the corners of his lips tugging up a bit. “Why else would they just send me flowers?” 

“Anyway,” Minho rolls his eyes, “what do you want done with them?”

“Have a few brought to my room and a few to Mother and Father’s. The rest can go around the palace.” Subin picks up one of the vases. “You can have this one for your office. Might cheer the place up a bit and make it more homey.” Minho nearly tells him that it isn’t meant to be homey, that the bright flowers don’t exactly match the whole mood of the office, but he bites his tongue, not wanting a repeat of earlier’s argument, and simply takes the vase.

“I’ll arrange for them to be brought up in the morning.” He inclines his head to Subin, signifying that he’s said all he wants to and that Subin does not need to stay. “Happy birthday.” It’s uttered as Subin is halfway out the door, but Minho feels a hand squeeze his shoulder ever so slightly in acknowledgement. Then, just like that, Subin is gone and he is left alone with the flowers. 

  
  


“General Moon is in your office, Sir.” One of the guards on night patrol informs him as he salutes. Minho raises a brow and nods, thanking the soldier. He wasn’t expecting General Moon back for another hebdomad or so. It’s very odd for him to return early and usually means bad news. Minho picks up his pace and swings his office door with enough force to startle the man on the other side.

“Byungwoo.” General Moon eyes Minho’s attire and the vase in his hand.

“Who are those from?” Minho isn’t in the mood for frivolous small talk right now and places the vase on his desk without the slightest bit of care. Flowers don’t matter at all in the grand scheme of things.

“You’re back early.” 

“Astute observation, Minho. No wonder you were made General of the Army.” 

“Now is really not the time for this. If you’ve got nothing to say, you can leave.” He won’t play this game when there are far more important affairs he has to attend to. Byungwoo’s playful smile falls away and is replaced with his more serious expression. “So what happened?”

“That’s the thing; nothing happened.” Minho narrows his eyes and Byungwoo continues. “We didn’t see anybody, not a single person.” He stand beside the map pinned on Minho’s wall and points to four of the largest mountain passes. “I had patrols camped at all four spots, watching night and day. Nothing. That’s never happened before. We even canvassed the entire area we were patrolling and didn’t find so much as a footprint.” The mountain range in question makes up the northern border of the territory and the four passes are the only way through. The kingdom’s northern neighbor has for years been attempting to infiltrate it. The passes are difficult to keep watch over, which is why Minho has entrusted the duty to Byungwoo, his second in command, and General Park, who’s been a general nearly as long as Minho’s been alive. The reports he receives indicate spies and bandits caught every trip. So Byungwoo is correct to be suspicious in the sudden lack of people in the mountain. 

“What are your thoughts then?” 

“I honestly don’t know,” Byungwoo’s eyes are still fixed on the map, “but none of them are good.” He rakes a hand through his hair. “My biggest worry is that Bellmere is plotting something bigger. Or…” Hesitancy fills his voice, as though he fears even saying this outloud. Minho thinks that both of them are coming to the same conclusion, and if that’s the case then he understands the apprehension. 

“Or?” He looks over to Byungwoo, who lets out a breath and drags his eyes away from the map to meet Minho’s.

“Or they’ve already put a plan in action.” He looks loathe to say it, though Minho expected this. It’s a natural conclusion to come to. “And if that’s the case then I’ve failed in my duty.” Byungwoo drops his gaze and bows deeply. “Forgive me.” 

“Have you spoken to General Park yet?” It’s Minho’s turn to glue his eyes to the map now, as though staring at it will somehow solve all his problems.

“Briefly,” Byungwoo straightens, “though he’s of the same mind as us.”

“What does he want to do about it?” Minho does not know the mountains as well as Byungwoo and General Park do and he’d rather allow them to take the action they see best than to butt in a situation where he isn’t knowledgeable.

“He thinks we should just continue on as we always have.” There’s an edge to Byungwoo’s voice, one Minho knows well enough to identify as disagreement. Byungwoo’s never been shy of voicing his.

“And you?” 

“I think we should regroup and figure out something new. I’d rather try to strike first than sit back and wait.” 

“Park is right.” There’s no ideal solution, of course, but Minho figures this one is the best. “We don’t have any proof that Bellmere has done anything. If we retreat, we leave the passes open and if they haven’t been infiltrated already, then they certainly will be then. If we strike - which would require the king’s permission in order to be legal and there is no doubt in my mind that he will not grant it - then we almost certainly start a war. Not to mention that it looks like we attacked unprompted.” Byungwoo has always been shortsighted in regards to the politics surrounding the military, but it’s Minho who is the odd one out of the two of them. The majority of his generals often forget to take politics into consideration, and even those that do don’t have quite the experience that Minho does with them. Though he’s never truly been comfortable in court, it’s affairs like this where he feels that he can shine. “The peace between the seven kingdoms is held together by strings; if one of them pushes too hard against the bond, the strings break and all seven fall apart. Ultimately, the goal is to avoid that as best we can. In this case, the best thing we can do is doing what we have been.”

“But-”

“Look, I’ll figure something out when it comes to it,” Minho falls into his chair, “but until Bellmere actually makes a move, I have other things to worry about.” The stack of files on the edge of his desk won’t go away on its own.

“I take it these are your worries.” Minho’s eyes flit to Byungwoo’s finger on the map, pointing to one of several red pins. Minho frowns. “Riots?” The silence is telling. “Does the king know?”

“No,” Minho grits his teeth, “and he isn’t going to. I’m handling it.” That’s probably the most accurate way to describe what he’s doing: not aggravating, not suppressing, but handling. If only that would stop the spread of pins. Byungwoo opens his mouth to say more, but Minho cuts him off. “Don’t concern yourself with it for now. If I need your help, I’ll tell you, but I have others managing it with me.” Byungwoo looks between Minho and the map for a long moment before bowing his head and letting the matter drop. “If that’s all, you are dismissed General Moon.” 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> thank you guys so much for 1k!! we were really excited when we hit it :D also plz comment I <3 validation and I want to know what you guys think about this chapter


	12. XII. Nobody Likes a Rat

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> I wrote like 70% of this at 3am and my single braincell decided it was gonna be dramatic 
> 
> also **warnings for the second flashback: violence, injury, and lots of blood**

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> meme machine broke y'all

If you’d told Hyunjin three Turns ago that he’d not only be waking up early every day, but that he’d be doing it naturally, he’d have called you crazy. A morning person was never something he considered himself. Anyone who’d had the pleasure to speak to him at any point near dawn could confirm that. Yet here he is, alert despite the sun having barely risen, and ready to do a patrol of the town. Technically that’s not their job, he thinks, but who is he to defy Captain Park. It’s not illegal, so who cares? Besides, Hyunjin quite likes Captain Park. She’s fair and decent, one of the nicer commanding officers he’s met. She’s easy to respect and frankly she’s a person you _want_ to respect. Not like Colonel Song at all. She’s hard to please sure, but at least she isn’t a bully about it. Hyunjin wouldn’t mind earning commendation from her - it’ll look good on his record - but he also isn’t planning on sticking with her patrol for very long, so he can’t say he’ll be heartbroken not to receive it. Right now, it might be better to keep his head down and do as he’s told.

They’re a few minutes out from the town center when shouting erupts from nearby and Captain Park raises her arm, signalling the troop to stop. It’s hard to tell where the noise is coming from exactly - the village isn’t particularly large and sound carries - or what the commotion is, but it obviously isn’t happy. “Split up. Shout if you need backup.” The group separates and Hyunjin runs down a shadowed alley hoping for all he’s worth that the yelling isn’t about something too serious. It reminds him far too much of the day Seungmin’s dad died for comfort and he really, _really_ , doesn’t want a repeat of that ever again. The street he runs into is practically empty, save a startled, young couple that he nearly crashes into when he bursts out of the alley. Where to next then? Does he go towards the village center or go down through the streets?

“Hyunjin!” He looks around for the voice; the street is still empty. “Hyunjin! A little help!” Hyunjin looks up the alley across from him and he can make out Myunghwa and another soldier - Misun by the looks of it - on the other side trying to pull people back from the group that’s formed. He runs over to them and he knows what’s happening the minute he gets close enough to discern some of the incoherent shouting: it’s a fight.

There aren’t enough people to call it a crowd really, but there are enough that they’re difficult to control. Not to mention they’re riled up now, cheering for every hit that lands and egging on the two boys in the middle. Hyunjin sucks in a breath, the scene all too familiar to him. A sudden rush of adrenaline hits him, like he’s back in Aramoor, and blood pounds in his ears. “Don’t just stand there, Hyunjin! Do something!” Misun is trying to get through the crowd, but he’s unsuccessful. It only makes them angrier; soldiers trying to ruin their fun. Hyunjin’s been there before, which perhaps he shouldn’t admit, but it’s an advantage to him right now. He knows how to get through a crowd like this. Using his shoulders, he gets through with pure force, not caring who he has to shove out of his way. Hyunjin has height that Misun and Myunghwa do not, and he’s far more accustomed to an environment like this. It’s no wonder he’s having such an easy time of it. The cries of “Stop it!” ring out from outside the group but there’s no acknowledgment of them. Hyunjin almost wants to laugh. When has that ever worked before? No one stops a fight because you tell them to. He reaches boys in the middle just as the one closest to him pulls back for another punch. Hyunjin grabs his arm and yanks the boy back and off balance. His other arm flails in an attempt to stabilize himself and Hyunjin grabs that arm as well, twisting it behind the boy’s back so his forearm rests between his shoulder blades and Hyunjin pushes him to his knees so he can’t kick him and to make it clear that Hyunjin has the upper hand. The boy tries to break away, but Hyunjin’s grip is like iron on his wrists and he can’t. One of the bystanders has grabbed the other boy, holding him back despite his struggles. There’s a terrifying stillness from everybody else for a beat and then, once the fighters realize that they’re not going to be able to continue and relax, the crowd begins to disperse. The boy Hyunjin isn’t holding stops in front of him for a moment and glares down.

“You better watch your fucking back, Namgi. Next time the vultures won’t be here to save you.” He spits at Namgi, who Hyunjin can swear he hears growl at the other boy, and then runs to catch up with the others. Hyunjin assumes they’re his friends, or at least something like that. He lets Namgi stand up, but doesn’t let him go just yet. The tension in his muscles has left and the kid slumps, as though defeated. Myunghwa and Misun are there in an instant.

“I’ll admit: I’m impressed, Hyunjin. Maybe you’re a better fit for the squad than we thought.” Hyunjin offers a half smile at the backhanded compliment. “Why don’t we take him to Captain Park and she what she has to say about all this.”

“You two go ahead. I’ll catch up,” he shakes his head at them. Misun raises a brow at him. “Let me try talking to him and see if I can get something out of him. He definitely won’t talk if the whole squad comes.” Myunghwa and Misun exchange a look and shrug.

“Suit yourself.” Hyunjin waits until they’re out of sight and it’s just him and Namgi left until he releases the boy.

“Now, I don’t think you will, but I’m warning you that if you run I **will** make sure you get in trouble with my captain.” Namgi turns to face him, wariness in his eyes, and even though his face is painted in the blues and purples of newly forming bruises and the red of blood, Hyunjin can see how young he is. Not that Hyunjin is old, but Namgi is definitely younger than he is. “You’re what, 16?”

“15.” Namgi mumbles, frowning and gingerly touching his jaw. Honestly, Hyunjin isn’t even surprised. That’s just how it is.

 

_Hyunjin knows he looks terrible. The stares he keeps getting aren’t helping him feel better about that. Split lip, bloody nose, bruised jaw and cheeks, a nasty cut above his eye… and that’s just on his face. His torso is probably worse, but he can’t say he’s excited to find out. Already his adrenaline is wearing off and everything is starting to hurt. Especially Seungmin’s insanely tight grip on his wrist as he practically drags Hyunjin home. Seungmin hasn’t said anything since he grabbed Hyunjin’s collar and yanked him out of yet another fight (Hyunjin needs to figure out a) how Seungmin keeps finding him during those, and b) how the fuck Seungmin is strong enough to not only break through the whole damn crowd of people surrounding a fight but to also pull Hyunjin away because physical strength isn’t exactly something Hyunjin would associate with his friend) but his mouth is drawn in a tight line and his jaw is tense. You can practically see the anger rolling off him in waves._

_Seungmin doesn’t free Hyunjin’s wrist until he’s slammed the door behind them and even then he doesn’t say a word. He doesn’t say a word as he gathers things from the medicine cabinet, doesn’t say a word as Hyunjin takes a seat at the table, familiar with this routine. Quite frankly, this is scarier. Seungmin’s always been loud in his anger before. This quiet anger is far, far worse._

_“So what’s your excuse this time?” He doesn’t raise his voice, but it’s like ice. Seungmin wets part of a cloth in alcohol and presses it to the cut above Hyunjin’s eye. Hyunjin hisses at the sting, but Seungmin is still gentle despite his fury. Hyunjin’s eyes drop from Seungmin’s. “Oh, you don’t have one? Just like last time and the time before that and the time before that and countless times before those too. When are you going to stop doing this?” Silence hangs over the two and Seungmin slams his fist onto the table. “Say something, damn it!”_

_“I’m sorry.” Seungmin stands up to wrap gauze around his head to cover the gash. He scoffs._

_“No. You’re not.” Hyunjin winces. Seungmin no longer sounds so angry; he sounds tired. He wets another cloth - this one in water thankfully - and gives it to Hyunjin so he can wipe the blood from his nose and mouth._

_“I am.” Seungmin looks it him with weary eyes._

_“If you were sorry you’d stop doing it. You promised you would. Lift your shirt.” Hyunjin grimaces at the violet painting on his torso, overlain on other still healing bruises. He can’t see his back, but he figures it’s much the same. Seungmin’s fingers ghost over his ribs and his face is screwed up in a worried look. Hyunjin knows instantly what he’s looking at: a far worse looking bruise than the others. Without warning, Seungmin presses against it and Hyunjin yelps in pain and pushes Seungmin off._

_“What the hell, Seungmin!”_

_“That hurt a lot?”_

_“No shit it hurt a lot. It’s a fucking bruise, they hurt when you press them.” Hyunjin pulls his shirt down and shields his ribs from any further probing._

_“Not that bad they don’t, dumbass. You’ve probably broken a rib. This is the point I’ve been trying to make this whole time, Hyunjin. Why won’t you just listen to me?” Seungmin’s finally starting shouting._

_“What do you mean?” Hyunjin wasn’t lying when he said he was sorry. He just wasn’t sorry about the fighting. What he’s sorry for is making Seungmin worry so much._

_“Sun and stars, there’s no way for me to put this nicely. Hyunjin, if you keep going on like this one day you’re going to mess with the wrong person and get yourself killed. All you’re doing is hurting yourself more and more and eventually I won’t be able to fix you.” Seungmin drags a hand down his face. “I know you’re angry and I’m not telling you not to be. You just can’t keep picking fights as an outlet.” Hyunjin’s first instinct is to blindly argue, tell Seungmin it’s his life and he’ll do what he wants, but that isn’t what he finds himself saying._

_“It’s the only way I know how to deal with things.” Seungmin chews his lip and something akin to sadness flits across his face._

_“I thought we were friends.” Hyunjin is thoroughly confused now._

_“Huh? Of course we are. What does that have to do with anything?” He’s fixed with a look that very clearly says that Seungmin thinks Hyunjin is the dumbest person in this land right now._

_“So why don’t you talk to me when you’re angry?” Hyunjin isn’t sure if it’s a suggestion or a genuine question. He scratches his head._

_“It was just easier to go out and punch someone. Besides, I didn’t think you’d want to hear that stuff. I mean, you and your dad try to keep a happy atmosphere and all. I don’t want all my baggage to become a burden on you.” All he wants is for Seungmin to keep smiling as he always has._

_“I can take it, Hyunjin,” But you shouldn’t have to, Hyunjin thinks. “You shouldn’t worry about me right now.” Seungmin sticks out a pinky. “Promise you’ll talk to me instead of picking a fight?” Hesitantly, Hyunjin links his pinky with Seungmin’s._

_“I’ll try,” he agrees._

_“That’s what you said last time too.” Hyunjin’s eyes fall to their hands. Even if Seungmin won’t say it, there’s pain in his eyes and Hyunjin hates seeing it. It isn’t pity - Seungmin would never pity him - but it’s something that runs deeper and it’s a look Hyunjin’s only seen directed at him. He swallows hard and turns his hand so he can lace their fingers together, forcing himself to look at Seungmin._

_“I promise.”_

 

“So, you gonna arrest me or what?” Namgi’s still frowning at Hyunjin, but he doesn’t seem upset about it. If anything, Hyunjin’d say the kid’s accepted his fate. It’s almost heartbreaking given how young he is. Almost. But Hyunjin’s been there; he gets it. Granted, he never got caught, but he’d imagined this sort of situation before. There’s not much you _can_ do about it.

“What were you fighting about?” Namgi narrows his eyes at Hyunjin.

“Why should I tell you that?”

“Well, you can either tell _me_ , or you can tell my captain. Believe me when I say I’m the one you want to tell.” He’s met with silence. “Look, I’ve been there, Namgi. I’m not planning on ratting you out if you tell me. Snitches get stitches, right?” Hyunjin should know.

“Taehyun thinks I stole something of his,” Namgi doesn’t look like he fully trusts Hyunjin, but he answers the question nonetheless.

“Did you?” Namgi smirks at this.

“Sure did. He can’t prove that though.” This kid reminds Hyunjin too much of himself. He was doing the same exact shit before Seungmin and his dad were kind enough to let him stay with them.

“What’d you take?” Namgi’s back to his suspicious glare.

“A necklace of his. He stole from passing duke or something a while ago; he never shuts up about it.” Then, in anticipation of Hyunjin’s next question, “I was gonna sell it.” Hyunjin can sympathize. It’s the fastest and most lucrative way to make money on the streets. But there’s a certain disdain for Taehyun in Namgi’s voice that leads Hyunjin to believe that maybe that’s not all there is to it.

“So you didn’t do it to spite Taehyun?” Namgi looks taken aback.

“And so what if I did?” He juts his chin out defiantly. “Not like it matters, in the end. Taehyun’ll kick my ass either way.” In the distance, Hyunjin can hear the footsteps and he knows that he doesn’t have a lot of time before the troop reaches them.

“Namgi, listen to me.”

“Why should-”

“Just trust me.” Namgi opens his mouth to protest, but bites back whatever retaliation he has, realizing Hyunjin’s more urgent demeanor. “I was like you once, okay? I know why you’re doing what you’re doing. But stealing out of spite is the worst thing you can do. No matter how good it feels sticking it to someone you hate. At least when you steal for money you’re getting something out of it, you know, you’re trying to help yourself or others. When you steal out of spite, you’re looking for a fight. And once you start looking for one, it gets really, _really_ , hard to stop. Okay?” He’s met with blinking, but Hyunjin does have time to dwell on it. “I can’t believe I’m saying this, but punch me.”

“What?” Namgi is understandably confused.

“I can’t just let you go. Punch me so it looks like you put up a fight and ran.” The troop is getting closer by the second. Namgi gives it a moment of deliberation, then shrugs and clocks Hyunjin square in the jaw, sending him stumbling back. He runs off like a shot, leaving Hyunjin to wince and face his squad alone. He makes sure to play up the pain he’s in as Captain Park comes into view and he straightens his posture, looking down at the ground as if in shame, hands behind his back.

“Private Hwang,” she does not sound pleased, “I was told that the troublemaker was in your custody, but you appear to be alone.”

“He took me by surprise and punched me. I wasn’t able to recover fast enough to catch him, ma’am.” There’s a long silence and Hyunjin ventures a glance at Captain Park. She’s frowning at him in disappointment.

“Did you or did you not pass basic training, Private?”

“I did, Captain.”

“Then I would expect more from you than letting some delinquent get the drop on you. Especially after Private Lee and Private Bae spoke so highly of you. Do better.” Hyunjin nods. Namgi owes him for this. Being scolded in front of his troop is not something he enjoys. “We’ll return to the inn to prepare the horses; we leave by midday. Move out!” Hyunjin walks at the back of the group, not exactly keen on being anyone’s center of attention. Misun falls back to join him to his chagrin.

“You let him go, didn’t you?” Hyunjin doesn’t look at Misun, just lets out a single huff.

“Now why would I ever do that?”

“Don’t play dumb with me, Hyunjin. I watched you break up a fight. You think I’d believe the same kid you just literally forced to his knees somehow got the upper hand on you?”

“You can believe what you want, Misun, just think about what you’re implying.” Hopefully Misun can feel the ice in his voice. “If I did let him go - which I didn’t - that would be against the rules.”

“Rumour has it you’re here for breaking them.” Hyunjin takes a deep breath.

“Rumour has it I’m trying to get off this squad, not be stuck here forever. I can’t do that if I keep breaking rules, can I?” Misun talks too much for his own good, Hyunjin has concluded. “You mind your business, I’ll mind mine.” Then, quietly so Misun doesn’t hear him, “Snitches get stitches, Misun.” He’s lucky he never had to learn that the hard way.

 

_Seungmin’s instructions of how to pick a good cabbage are utterly unhelpful. They all look the same to him. Normally the two would split the groceries since it’s faster and Seungmin’s got a much better eye for what’s good and what isn’t, but Seungmin stayed up all last night waiting for his father to return from his fishing trip (he didn’t) and Hyunjin told him to get some much needed sleep instead of coming to the market, though not without Seungmin’s advice on how to know which vegetables are good. It’s beyond Hyunjin what difference it really makes - no offense to Seungmin, but his cooking isn’t exactly gourmet - but he’s trying nonetheless. Hopefully Seungmin’s dad will come back soon; his cooking is much better than Seungmin’s._

_“I must say, Hyunjin,” he whips his head from the cabbage stand and stumbles back at the face, or rather faces, that he’s greeted with. “You’ve got a lot of nerve.” It’s been a few Cycles since Hyunjin’s seen Lee Junseok and seeing him now sets his nerves on edge. Junseok is only a few Turns older than him, not even 21 yet, but he’s far, far scarier than Hyunjin could ever be. Maybe Hyunjin would have turned out like him if he’d never met Seungmin and had instead been consumed by his anger and bitterness with the world and its injustices. But Hyunjin didn’t and so he’s rightfully afraid of Junseok, though even those closest to Junseok are said to fear him. He isn’t someone you want to mess with and he isn’t really someone you want coming up to you in the middle of a market, especially not when  he’s got two of his lackeys with him._

_“I don-”_

_“Let’s talk, shall we.” Junseok never asks, only commands. His lackeys grab Hyunjin and essentially force him to walk with them, though he wasn’t planning on resisting. Everyone in the market can see what’s going on, but they pretend not to. Junseok’s wide influence in Aramoor’s underbelly is well known by the people of town and they dare not cross him. Hyunjin can do nothing except stare at his back and let his mind race, trying to figure out why he’s in this mess. He and Junseok were never friends - the latter doesn’t trust anyone enough for that - but they weren’t enemies either. They only ever really spoke during some of the more serious fights Hyunjin got into, the ones Junseok organized, and Hyunjin hasn’t been to one in since before his birthday, which was four Cycles ago. He’s doing his best to make good on his promise to Seungmin and recently he’s really been succeeding. But he can’t imagine that’s what Junseok’s mad about. Hyunjin didn’t work for him; he was never contractually obligated to attend a fight. So why is this happening?_

_They stop in front of a bar, one of many Junseok likes using for his less than legal operations. It’s empty and silent at this hour, too early to officially be open, but Junseok waltzes right in anyway and Hyunjin’s pulled in as well. His arms aren’t released until they reach a room in the way back, behind the store room. It’s probably an office Junseok uses or something, but Hyunjin isn’t focused on that right now. His brain feels fuzzy and he can’t process anything except fear. “Do you know how I became so respected at such a young age?” Junseok has plopped himself into a chair, feet up on the desk. He looks bored, as if this is something routine. Hyunjin shakes his head quickly. “Fear, Hyunjin, fear. I made the people, especially the powerful ones, fear me. It’s easier than you’d think.” He unsheathes a knife from his belt and twirls it on the wood, the point driving a tiny hole into the desk. “No one in their right mind would betray me,” Junseok leaves the statement hanging between the two of them and his cold eyes stare into Hyunjin’s soul, “Or so I thought. You see, in the past few Cycles, I’ve had several of my fights raided by the army. At first I thought it might have been an incredibly unfortunate coincidence because I plan accordingly and I have never been wrong before. But then it happened again. And again. If not for the loyalty people have to me, I would have been discovered.” Junseok is standing now, approaching Hyunjin like a tiger its prey. Hyunjin’s blood runs cold and he’s frozen in place. “So I thought to myself, ‘Who would do such a thing? Who would ever rat me out? It certainly can’t be someone at these fights, that would be insane.’ And then it dawned on me: this started happening almost right after you stopped coming.” Hyunjin’s finally able to force himself to move and with every step Junseok takes towards him he steps back. Until he can no longer backup and his legs hit the seat of a chair, sending him off balance and falling into it. Junseok leans over Hyunjin so his face is mere inches away, a dangerous glint in his eye._

_“I-I didn’t say anything. T-this isn’t my doing. I swear it on my life, Junseok.”_

_“That’s not a good idea. I might just take you up on that offer, Hyunjin.” Hyunjin can feel himself shaking. He really didn’t do this, but he’ll never change Junseok’s mind. Junseok has decided he’s guilty, so guilty he is. “But I don’t want you dead, unfortunately for you. No, I can’t do anything with that.” He tilts the knife in his hand, making sure Hyunjin sees it. “You, foolish little traitor, will be an example for anyone who ever thinks of crossing me again. You know what they say,” Junseok smiles and Hyunjin’s never seen anything so terrifying, “Snitches get stitches.” Hyunjin shakes his head, clamping his hands down on the arms of the chair as hard as he can, a string of desperate “no”s falling from his mouth. “Grab his arms.” Junseok’s lackeys do as he commands and they’re far stronger than Hyunjin, tearing his hands from the chair as if it were nothing. It feels useless to resist, but Hyunjin closes his hands into fists anyway. He’s innocent, he can’t just take this. This just makes Junseok angry though and Hyunjin’s jerked up from the chair and his back is slammed into the desk, his arms pinned down and a hand pries open his closed right fist, this time the fingers are held down so he can’t close them again. Hyunjin is panicking now. He’s out of options._

_The pain is so excruciating that Hyunjin can do nothing but scream. Junseok isn’t merciful about it either; he takes his time dragging the knife across Hyunjin’s palm. He_ **_wants_ ** _this to hurt. This is how he keeps people in fear of him. He hurts them and then sends them off to tell everyone else. He punishes quickly, harshly, and unforgivingly and it’s no wonder no one ever dares to defy him. Darkness swims across Hyunjin’s vision and he can feel tears stream from the corners of his eyes. Then, just when he thinks maybe Junseok has stopped, “And, to show everyone just who you betrayed, you can have another one.” Of course he can’t just leave it at one. Junseok isn’t the only gang leader in this town, though he’s the most powerful. He wants his punishments to be recognized. The second cut hurts just as much as the first and Hyunjin’s throat is starting to go raw from screaming. He’s really beginning to wish Junseok had just killed him instead._

_Hyunjin isn’t really sure what happens after that. He’s in too much pain to register when Junseok stopped and somehow he got from the back office to the street, but he really couldn’t tell you how. His right hand is cradled to his chest, blood pooling and streaming down his shirt, and every action hurts. But Hyunjin doesn’t want to be here anymore - can’t be here - he has to get home. Has to figure out what to do, how to fix this. Wants to scream his head off, which he can’t exactly do in the middle of the street without calling everyone’s attention to him. He stumbles in the direction of home, his feet moving from muscle memory because his brain can’t focus._

_Hyunjin almost cries from happiness when he sees the house, a brief flash of light shooting through his foggy mind. He hasn’t quite reached the door, however, when it swings open and Seungmin steps out, starting when he sees Hyunjin. “Oh, I was just going to... look… for… you…” He trails off, face growing pale as he takes in the scene before him. Hyunjin’s come back bruised and battered before, maybe even with a bloody nose or the occasional shallow cut, but he’s never looked like this. “Sun and stars! Hyunjin!” Seungmin rushes to him and places his hands on his shoulders, ushering Hyunjin into the house and hurriedly shutting the door behind them. Hyunjin just stands there, unable to think, and Seungmin’s all jittery, running this way and that, digging through cupboards with fervor. Hyunjin can see everything playing out, can feel Seungmin’s stress in the air around him, but it feels like he’s taken a backseat to the action. He’s seeing it, but he isn’t experiencing it._

_“-yunjin. Hyunjin.” Seungmin’s concerned face comes into focus and Hyunjin looks at him blankly. Seungmin places a hand on his shoulder again and guides Hyunjin to the table where he’s laid out bowl and towels. Hyunjin lets himself be manuevered as Seungmin sees fit, more puppet than human. Seungmin points to an empty bowl he’s placed closest to Hyunjin and it’s not difficult to guess what he wants, but Hyunjin shakes his head at Seungmin. “Please,” Seungmin’s voice shakes, “Let me see.” Gently, he reaches for Hyunjin’s wrist and Hyunjin just lets him. He’s lost the will to fight today. He can’t bring himself to look when Seungmin gasps, the trembling in his friend’s hand all the indication he needs. “What… what happened?” It comes out in a whisper, like Seungmin is afraid to know._

_“Junseok happened.” Hyunjin swallows hard, fresh tears springing to his eyes. He feels water being poured onto his palm and hisses at the dull sting._

_“But you haven’t seen him in Cycles,” Seungmin’s voice is still quiet and shaky. Perhaps he can’t bring himself to speak louder._

_“I know.”_

_“Then why would he do this?” Sometimes Hyunjin forgets that Seungmin’s been rather sheltered. His father has kept him as protected from the darker side from Aramoor as he can and Hyunjin never tells him much about it. There are lots of things Seungmin doesn’t know._

_“Snitches get stitches,” Hyunjin lets out a hollow laugh. The hold on his wrist tightens almost imperceptibly as Seungmin presses a towels to Hyunjin’s hand and he’s uncomfortably silent. “Junseok thinks I ratted him out,” Hyunjin continues, though he’s not really sure why. Seungmin didn’t ask, but he feels almost compelled to tell him and fill the silence. “He didn’t believe me when I said I didn’t.” Seungmin still says nothing. “You believe me, right?” He doesn’t like the desperation the he hears in his voice, but he needs Seungmin to say he does. Something wet hits Hyunjin’s forearm and he looks to Seungmin, only to see him crying._

_“I believe you,” Seungmin’s voice is thick, “I know you didn’t rat out Junseok because_ ** _I_** _did.” It’s like time has stopped and all Hyunjin can do is gape at Seungmin. “Sun and stars, this is my fault,” realization has hit Seungmin like lightning, “this is my fault. This happened because of me.” His chest heaves and he releases Hyunjin’s wrist, all but pushing him away. Seungmin backs away from Hyunjin with short gasping breaths. “I did this.”_

_“Seungmin…” Hyunjin reaches for him with his free hand, but Seungmin just retreats further, eyes wide in horror and tears streaming down his face._

_“I did this,” he repeats, voice breaking. “It’s all my fault.” Hyunjin can’t take it anymore. He doesn’t care if he makes the bleeding worse again, he can’t just stand by and watch Seungmin blame himself._

_“Seungmin,” he strides over to him and this time Seungmin doesn’t move, just watches him with guilt painted across his whole face. “Seungmin,” his voice is gentler now and he can feel another wave of tears coming, “you didn’t do this. This is not your fault. Junseok did this, this is his fault.” Seungmin shakes his head and looks everywhere except at Hyunjin. Only when Hyunjin touches his hand does Seungmin start and look at him._

_“I don’t understand how you can be so calm. I hurt you, Hyunjin,” he looks sick just saying it, “you should be angry at me. Why aren’t you angry at me?”_

_“You didn’t know, Seungmin. You didn’t know he’d do this. I don’t blame you.” Seungmin’s back to staring at the ground. “Please, look at me.” Seungmin does and Hyunjin can’t keep his own tears back anymore. “I don’t blame you,” he says again, taking Seungmin’s hand and holding it tightly, “so please don’t blame yourself. Okay?” Seungmin nods, though he still doesn’t look very confident in Hyunjin’s words. The two return to the table and the towel is peeled off Hyunjin’s palm. Though it’s mostly soaked through, the bleeding on his palm has at least slowed down and the x-shape is now clear to see. Hyunjin can still hardly look at it and based on Seungmin’s face he’s not having an easy time of it either despite his best effort to compose himself._

_“We should go to the doctor.” It’d be the smart thing to do, after all. Except they can’t, Hyunjin knows that for a fact and the slight shake of his head tells Seungmin that as well. “I can handle small cuts and bruises, but this… I have no idea what I’m doing, Hyunjin.”_

_“They won’t treat me though. They know Junseok and they know this means I’ve crossed him. No one will risk helping me, at least not right now.”_

_“But you need stitches.”_

_“You can sew, right?” Seungmin nods. “It can’t be that different.”_

_“I don’t know,” he bites his lip, “I don’t think it’s a good idea.”_

_“Well, it’s the only one we’ve got right now.” For a moment there’s silence as Seungmin contemplates the decision then, with a sharp breath, he lets out an “okay.” Rising, Seungmin goes to what Hyunjin recognizes as the liquor cabinet and pulls out gin, which is what he usually uses to clean cuts. It hurts like a bitch on tiny stuff; Hyunjin can’t imagine how bad it’ll be on his palm. Probably like sticking his hand in liquid fire. Seungmin leaves again, this time returning with a needle and thread._

_“It’s going to hurt a lot.” Hyunjin nods and grits his teeth, bracing himself for the undoubtedly searing pain he’s going to be in for a while. But he’ll bear it if it means everything will be okay in the end. And Hyunjin believes it will._

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> the day I write something not angsty is the day pigs fly I s2g


	13. XIII. Nowhere

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Felix officially meets Changbin

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> yikes sorry this took so long but a bitch (me) was sick and literally crying over how much homework I have and my last two braincells were NOT being helpful at all

Felix wakes to weak morning sunlight washing over his face. There’s a groan on his lips before he even opens his eyes; his whole body  _hurts_ , and for a moment he’s not entirely sure why. Then it all comes rushing back - the ring, the soldiers, the colonel, the colonel’s _fist and boot_ , the woods, the screaming pain, the night sky, then nothing - and his eyes snap open. The first thing he sees is the ceiling and, _oh, maybe that was all a bad dream?_ But when he looks a little longer, he realizes the ceiling isn’t the same one he’s used to waking up under. He sits up and _yeah, this definitely isn’t home_.

Fear and confusion bloom in his muscles and bones, spreading like ice and freezing him on the spot. Nothing around him is familiar - from the short table and single wooden chair pushed under it, the shining latches on the window and the closed door, to the darkness of the room on his right - everything surrounding him is foreign. He heaves in a deep breath, _this is fine, this is fine, I’m sure there’s an explanation,_ he tries to tell himself, but then he sees the body laying on the floor across the room and any last semblance of calm escapes him on the tails of the shout that pushes, quite without his meaning, past his lips.

He scrambles to his feet, startled out of his stupor and now acutely aware of the fact that the body across the floor is stirring. His eyes bounce frantically back and forth around the room, looking for something, _anything_ , but he’s not sure what - only that he doesn’t find it. His head is buzzing, the blood rushing in his ears so loudly that he can barely hear his own frantic breathing. All he can feel is his heart pounding in his chest and a lightness in his limbs that runs across every inch of his skin and screams for him to flee. Before he can, though, a loud curse cuts through the air and snaps everything back into focus; his eyes leave the blurred frame of the closed door across the room and land on the face of a boy who can’t be much older than he is - a face just as alarmed as his own.

For a moment, the sight calms Felix down. Whatever’s happening right now, at least the boy in front of him is just as panicked as he is. Neither of them say anything for a beat, both frozen, barely daring to breathe. Then the boy opens his mouth. “Don’t freak out.”

Felix freaks out. His nerves light up like they’ve been set on fire by the boy’s words and he tenses, ready to run. The boy's eyes widen and he must sense what Felix is about to do because he takes a step to the side, blocking the door, then another, smaller one towards Felix. Fear and adrenaline course through him, making it hard to think straight, and as soon as the boy moves, the alarm bells blaring in his head are the only thing Felix can process, so he grabs the closest thing to him without really registering what it is, and throws it at the boy as hard as he can. It's a pillow, he realizes as it arcs gently through the air and hits the boy's chest with a tiny thud, and it's utterly useless. So, he lurches forward to grab something a little more solid. This time his hands close around the chair he'd seen at the table when he’d first awakened, and when he hurls it at the boy with a small, panicked yell, it's much more effective.

The boy tries to dodge out of the way, but he isn’t quite fast enough, and one of the legs hits him square in the shoulder, knocking him back with enough force that he stumbles away from Felix and almost loses his balance. He curses again, but it comes out as more of a pained groan. Felix is about to make a break for it and hope he can get past the boy before he recovers, when his head tilts back up and the look on his face gives Felix pause. He’d expected anger, but the boy looks more incredulous, and almost, _almost_ , like he’s trying not to laugh. 

“The chair? Really?” He asks, and there’s something about the lilt in his voice that douses water on some of Felix’s flaming nerves. He stops gunning for the door and settles for simply taking a few halting steps backwards, away from the boy. A dozen questions flood through his head once he’s managed to calm down enough to really asses the situation, but he’s so overwhelmed that he can only process the simplest ones.

“Who are you? Where am I?” His voice shakes as he speaks.

The boy raises his hands up like Felix has levelled a sword at his chest. “My name is Changbin. This is where I live.”

“What happened? How did I get here? Where,” he pauses to breathe and to suppress his dread, but even the air tastes like fear on his tongue. “Where are the soldiers?”

Something like understanding spreads across Changbin’s face, but Felix’s head is still too clouded to register it. “Last night,” he starts slowly, “you were knocked out in the field nearby. It was storming, and when I found you, you were in pretty bad shape, so I brought you back here to treat your wounds.” He pauses, watches Felix intently for a moment, then: “You don’t have to worry about the soldiers. They’re not around, and they won’t find you here.”

A tightness Felix hadn’t realized was coiled around his chest, squeezing his lungs, loosens. “Where is _here_? Are we still in District Nine?”

Changbin shifts. “We're just outside of it.”

“District Eight?”

Changbin shakes his head.

“Ten?”

Again, Changbin shakes his head.

The coil twists back around Felix’s chest. Districts Eight and Ten wrap all the way around District Nine. There's nothing else bordering his district but barren, disputed land and enemy territory. “Where are we?” Felix asks cautiously.

Changbin hesitates too long for Felix’s liking. “We’re not in any district.”

Felix’s stomach drops to his feet. They must be across the border then, which means he’s in just as much danger as he was last night. He takes another step away from Changbin, whose face falls the slightest bit. “Wait! Let me explain,” he says quickly, “it's not what you think it is.”

Felix keeps backing away, unmoved, fear casting shadows over his eyes again. There’s a strange, small part of him that wants to believe Changbin, but it’s drowned out by the rest of him - by logic and fright. Nothing good ever happens to people who cross the border, so if he has crossed it, he needs to away from here as quickly as possible and figure out how to get back home before he finds out exactly how all the stories about kingdom skippers came to be. His eyes skim over the room again, looking for another way out because Changbin is still blocking the door, and he’s not confident in his ability to make it past him. It isn’t until he’s backed all the way against the wall that he notices the window behind him, but he wastes no time in leaping towards it. His hands are on the sill, pulling his body up so he can fling himself out and make a break for it, when he senses more than sees Changbin start to move towards him. He’s halfway out the window and expecting harsh hands to grab him and drag him back down into the room, but they never come.

“Felix!” Changbin says, his voice shaking and desperate though Felix can’t figure out why. “Stop! Please let me explain.”

The words, Felix thinks, have the same effect that hands would've had. He freezes where he is, falls back to the ground, and turns to Changbin with wide, untrusting eyes. “How,” he asks, and his voice sound cold and scared even to him, “do you know my name?”

Changbin grimaces, but his eyes are still trained on Felix with an intensity that roots him to the spot. “Will you let me explain? It's a long story.”

Felix nods apprehensively, still eyeing Changbin warily.

“This might be hard to believe.” Changbin says. “You might want to sit down.”

Felix doesn’t move.

Changbin sighs. “What do you know about the history of Hirin?”

Felix frowns. He knows it’s been ruled by kings for more generations than he can count, and he knows it’s been trapped in a tentative peace between Bellmere to the North, Haidel to the South, and the smaller kingdoms on all its other sides since the end of the Great Nerisian War, but he can’t remember when exactly that was, just that it was long before even his grandfather was born. That’s about all. He doesn’t know much about anything outside of District Nine because he’s never had to leave his town before, and he never thought he would. So, he stays silent, leaving Changbin’s question hanging, unanswered, in the air between them. He's not sure how the history of Hirin will explain why Changbin knows his name, anyway.

Changbin frowns a little, but doesn’t appear deterred. “Okay, I’ll start from the beginning then.” He takes a deep breath. “Generations ago, the last Great War of Neris was the most devastating one any kingdom had ever seen. Countless people died on every side. There had been wars before, but none had ever been so brutal, and there was a reason: it wasn't a war fought and won by soldiers and swords, but by mages and magic.”

Changbin falls silent to let this sink in and Felix gapes at him. “That's impossible,” he says, but it comes out much more uncertain than he would've liked. “Magic doesn't exist.”

Changbin meets his disbelieving gaze head on with an intensity that makes Felix want to squirm. “It did then,” he says seriously, “and it still does.”

Felix wants to retort, but any argument he might have dies on his lips as Changbin continues. “The war started with a single death; a noble of the King’s Court of Hirin. After he was murdered by a Bellmeren spy, his lover, a mage from Haidel he’d kept secret from almost everyone, avenged his death by killing the spy. So, the Bellmerens sent a mage of their own to capture and kill _him_ in retaliation, and then within the Cycle, mages from both Hirin and Haidel had banded together against Bellmere for pitting magic against magic. All of a sudden the three biggest kingdoms in all of Neris were tied in an ugly knot of brutal retaliations until it spiralled so far that war was inevitable.

“As soon as the kings had gotten the slightest taste of mages fighting their battles for them, anyone known to have magic was sent to fight, made to kill each other for the sake of their kingdoms, which had all seized the opportunity of the war to try and conquer their neighbors. Each king was blinded; why fight with iron when you can fight with magic, right? They all thought that with mages on their side they were guaranteed victory, but none of those kings knew what they were getting themselves into. They never could have guessed how different the war would be from all those they’d seen before - they didn’t realize just how far out of their own control the mages were. Their magic was more than any of the kings imagined, it was unbridled, untamed: raw power and energy flowed through the mages’ like lightning, and when they unleashed it in battle, it decimated all the land they touched. It was more destructive than any of the kings had anticipated, and they were helpless in the wake of the chaos they had set loose across all of Neris.

“None of the kings who started the war lived to see the end of it. Two of Hirin’s kings died before the war was over, and their successor was a coward because of it. By the time he came to power, so many mages had been wiped out by the fighting that the war couldn’t last any longer. Anyone left with magic, even if they’d managed to survive through everything, was too weak to carry on, and the war ended with a great gash opening up through the ground, splitting Hirin and Haidel apart, and a great retreat of all the last living mages. Tired of fighting, dying, destroying the very earth their magic poured into them from, and hardly able to remember why they’d been sent to war in the first place, the mages put down their arms and walked away. And then it was all over. Men started the war, but mages fought it, and _mages_ ended it.”

Felix stares at Changbin when he finally falls silent. His chest rises and falls heavily after going so long without really breathing, and his eyes pour over Felix’s face, searching for a reaction, but Felix is still trying to process everything he’s just been told. “How do I know you’re telling the truth?” He asks once he wraps his head around everything. “I’ve heard about the war, but no one has ever said anything about magic, and that seems like something people wouldn’t just forget to mention.”

Changbin starts to respond, but then Felix remembers why he’d even told the story in the first place and interrupts accusingly before he can. “And I don’t see how that explains why you know my name either.”

“I’m getting there. I told you it was a long story, and that it would be hard to believe. Just bear with me.”

Felix crosses his arms in front of him and nods begrudgingly.

“All right,” Changbin says, satisfied with Felix’s response. “This will answer both of your questions. As soon as the mages abandoned the frontlines and refused to fight any longer, the King of Hirin found out that instead of fighting each other, they were planning on turning on the kings who had set them against each other in the first place. He also found out they were too weak, too few in numbers to be able to do anything yet, so, like the coward he was, he decided to save his own skin while he still could. The king banned magic,” Changbin grits his teeth at this and a pained look flashes across his face. “He proclaimed that the mages had turned their backs on their kingdoms, that they had become overwhelmed by their own power and were now dangerous and intent on destroying Hirin so _they_ could rule instead. The people fell into panic, and the king capitalized on that. He sent troops out to find anyone left with magic and kill them to eliminate the threat before it ever fully formed against him.

“News of the ban, and why it was enacted, spread across all of Neris, and soon magic was outlawed everywhere, and mages were hunted no matter where they fled. Everyone with magic had to band together no matter where they were from or who they had fought for during the war - it was the only way they could hope to protect themselves. Nowhere was safe. Nowhere, until seven brothers from the far reaches of Hirin came up with an idea that would save them all. They found abandoned land that had been decimated during the war and sucked dry of natural resources by excessive mining even before the fighting broke out, and lead all the remaining mages there, where they pooled their power together to create a barrier that stretched up from the ground around them on all sides, and rose in a wide arc through the sky until it all met in the middle and sealed out the rest of the world. The magic infused in the Barrier was strong enough to repel anyone who came near it, and showed to the outside only an image of what the land had looked like before it had been formed. The mages could look out on the world beyond them if they wanted, but no one on the outside could see what lay within the Barrier’s protection, just out of reach. Finally, they were safe.

“For them, that was it. From there, we can only assume what happened on the Other Side. In the blink of an eye, all the mages disappeared from the world, and any trace of magic vanished with them. For all we know, the memory of magic could have faded away with time after that, or the kings could have decided to wipe magic from the records, erase it from the history books, forbidden the people to even speak of it. We don’t have any way of knowing for sure. Those kings are long dead, and so are their secrets. The only thing they left behind was a legacy of violence and lies. But it doesn’t matter now, because magic is alive even if the memory of it isn’t.”

Felix finds himself wishing he hadn’t thrown the chair at Changbin earlier so he could sit down now. His legs are struggling to hold him up almost as much as his brain is struggling to make sense out of everything Changbin has told him. Felix blinks at him, dumbfounded, and almost more confused now than he was before. There’s a long, heavy pause between them before he speaks. “You keep saying we.” He finally says. It’s not a question, but it demands an answer.

Changbin nods.

“So you’re . . .” Felix can’t bring himself to finish.

Changbin nods again and Felix has another startling thought. “If you’ve never been beyond the Barrier, are you telling me that I’m _inside_ your magic bubble, or whatever it’s called, right now?”

“We call it Nowhere.” Changbin says.

“How?” Felix asks incredulously. Then, before Changbin can answer, he continues. “Do you really expect me to believe that? Or anything else you say? What proof do you have that every word that’s come out of your mouth hasn’t been a lie?”

“If I didn’t think you’d try to run the minute I turned my back on you, I’d take you to the Barrier right now so you could see it.” Changbin says dryly, before pausing to think. “Those seven brothers,” he starts slowly, watching Felix closely, “didn’t just lead the mages anywhere. They lead them back to their hometown in the far reaches of Hirin, right along the Haidel border, where no one ever went.”

Felix looks at him blankly for a moment until all the pieces click together in his head and he’s almost blinded by how glaringly obvious it is. _You were knocked out in a field._ That’s what Changbin had told him earlier, but now that he thinks about it, he’d been in the deadwoods when he lost consciousness, right? But what if . . . “So you’re saying,” he starts, hardly believing the words even as they come out of his mouth, “that Nowhere is in District Nine? That’s how I got here?”

“That’s exactly what I’m saying.”

Felix gapes at him. “But _how_ ? _Where_? How has no one ever found out?”

“The land the mages chose was destroyed by the war and had been abandoned even before that for being infertile and unusable, so no one had any reason to go near it. With the Barrier’s repulsion on top of that, no one ever got close enough to notice that there was anything out of the ordinary. Not even the border patrol has ever gotten close to discovering us.”

“If the Barrier is so strong, how the hell did I get through it?” Felix asks.

Changbin narrows his eyes at Felix, but he doesn’t look accusatory - he just looks curious. “I don’t know.” He admits. “If I had to guess, I’d say that whatever was pushing you towards Nowhere was somehow stronger than the repulsion pushing you away.” He tilts his head to the side. “You were running for your life, weren’t you?”

Felix nods, not trusting his voice as the memories flood back into his head.

“That must have been it. If you were already running towards the Barrier that intently, the repulsion must not have been enough to get you to change your course.” He’s quiet again for a few moments, and he looks like he’s thinking something through. “Can I ask why you were running? Or where you were running to?”

Felix grimaces. He’s not quite sure why he feels like he should answer Changbin when he owes him nothing, but he does. “Let’s just say that when you’re this far from the Capital, sometimes the men in the military do what they want, and there’s no one to stop them. I ran into the woods because there was nowhere else for me to go - I wasn’t thinking, my feet just took me.”

“Maybe that was part of it.” Changbin hums, lost in thought. “Or maybe you’ve been around the Barrier so much that its effect on you has weakened.”

Felix blinks. “What do you mean?”

Changbin doesn’t seem to hear his question.

“What do you mean I’ve _been around the Barrier so much_?” Felix asks again, louder.

“What?” Changbin asks, refocusing. “Oh. I mean you’re the only person I’ve ever seen get so close to the Barrier, and you spend so much time so close to it that maybe the you’re just used to the feeling of the repulsion and its effect isn’t as strong on you.”

Felix’s eyes bug out. “ _What_ ? How close is _so close_? Where is the Barrier, exactly? How far into the Deadwoods is it?”

“The Deadwoods?” Changbin asks curiously. “Is that what you call the forests that were sucked dry by the mines under them?”

Felix nods. He doesn’t know anything about the mines, but there can’t be any other barren forests around.

“Well, it’s not the same on all sides, but where you came from, I’d say the Barrier is just within the treeline.” Changbin tells him.

“Just within?” Felix echoes quietly. Something about that doesn’t sit right with him, and a chill runs through him. “Does that mean that the little haven down the hill hidden by bramble is _right_ outside the Barrier?” He barely dares to ask.

“The little alcove where the stream runs through and the blueburns grow in?” Changbin asks, though the tone of his voice says he already knows they’re talking about the same place.

Felix nods, but he doesn’t have to; the look on Changbin’s face has already answered his question. Changbin shifts uneasily. “Yeah,” he says slowly, “that haven is just a few paces away from the Barrier.”

“So all those times I was there, if I’d just walked a little farther . . . I would’ve hit the Barrier?”

Changbin grimaces and Felix goes cold. “And you’ve seen me there before?” His voice shakes when he asks.

The grimace on Changbin’s face deepens as he nods.

“That’s how you knew my name, right? I talked to myself all the time, didn’t I? Were you always there? All those times I came out here to get away from people I wasn’t really alone?”

“No. It wasn’t like that at all.” Changbin says firmly, but Felix isn’t listening anymore.

“Sun and stars, this can’t be happening.” He starts to shake. It feels like all the blood is rushing out of his head towards his feet, because suddenly his arms feel lighter than air and his legs feel like they’re filled with lead. He sinks gracelessly to the ground, head buzzing and lungs struggling to draw in enough air. Changbin flinches like he wants to step forward towards Felix, but catches himself before he does.

“Felix, listen to me. Within the Barrier, that alcove is buried behind gardens and fields on the edge of the world for us. No one goes back there except for me, and I only ever went for chores or to collect herbs. It wasn’t like anyone was watching your every move, sometimes we just happened to be there at the same time and I saw you coming or going or heard something you said. It’s normal for us to see people on the Other Side on occasion like that. For me there were just more occasions where it was you. That was it. I’m serious. You don’t need to freak out.”

“Too late.” Felix chokes out over a rising flood of fresh panic, so quietly it’s almost a whisper. He’s too busy trying to remember how to breathe to notice Changbin kneel down so they’re eye level again, and doesn’t register that he’s talking again. All he can hear is the blood rushing in his ears until a loud bang interrupts his downward spiral.

He and Changbin both jump at the loud noise, and for the first time since waking up, Changbin turns his head away from Felix to see what caused the noise.

“Chan?” He asks, alarmed, at the same time the man now standing the the doorway staring wide-eyed at the two of them shouts: “Changbin, what the _fuck_?”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> WOO look at all that exposition,, all that history,, perhaps i was crying blood by the time i finished.... i know there were a lot of kingdom names thrown around so if you have any questions please don't hesitate to ask :)
> 
> gosh it was so hard for me to figure out changbin and felix's dynamic for this chapter and it took me SO long to nail down what was going to happen for their first meeting, but hey! it was worth it bc we're FINALLY at 9/9 characters introduced!!! It only took almost four months!! 
> 
> anyway i hope u enjoyed this chapter and as always we appreciate your comments so much we absolutely love you all and are so happy you're reading this <333333


	14. XIV. Sentimentality

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> can I get uhhhhh some Jeongin and Seungmin bonding time

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> sorry this took so long to get up ;-; my midterms said fuck my braincells  
> but yay more Jeongin and Seungmin!  
> and some more backstories!

After this trip, Jeongin can say with 100% certainty that he is not a morning person. He gets the whole “we need to use all the daylight possible to travel” thing and whatnot, but what he doesn’t get is why  _ he _ needs to be awake for all of it. Seungmin does all the driving anyway and it’s not as if Jeongin’s done much more than stare off into space until the sun’s been up for at least a few hours and his brain has finally kicked into gear. Seungmin’s answers to his complaints have been vague at best for some reason, but Jeongin thinks that his almost hourly pestering is wearing Seungmin down. 

“I’m just saying, it doesn’t make any sense for me to be up.” This is the third time today he’s brought it up, having been rudely awoken from a particularly good dream last night to face the harsh reality that he was sleeping on the ground in the middle of who-knows-where. 

“Even if I did let you sleep, you’ve still got to get in the cart somehow.”

“You could-”

“For the last time, I am not carrying you. Not now, not ever.” Seungmin makes an exasperated face. 

“What if I was dying?” 

“Well, you’re not.” Jeongin folds his arms at Seungmin. “We go through this everyday, Jeongin, when are you just gonna accept it? It’s not as if you aren’t getting plenty of sleep; I even let you rest until the last possible minute.”

“Sleeping that long on the ground is not the same as sleeping that long in a bed. Maybe you’re used to it, but it makes me feel like I’m 50. And besides, getting up with the sun is just  _ wrong _ .” Jeongin is infinitely indebted to Minho for not making him a farmhand. He’d never survive that.

“Lucky for you, there are beds in Aramoor then.” Jeongin perks up at the mention of Aramoor and beds. 

“We’ll get there before tonight, right?” He can practically hear his back singing with the joy of not sleeping on the ground again. Seungmin nods and points up ahead where Jeongin can just make out a few tiny houses. 

“Should only take us a bit. Sunwoo’s house is in the center though, and I can’t promise we’ll get there all that quickly. You know how it is.” Jeongin doesn’t nor does he know what that’s supposed to mean. Seungmin must see the blank look that crosses his face because he adds, “Crowds? The Capital’s always really busy; it’s a pain in the ass to get anywhere. Aramoor’s like that too, just on a smaller scale,” His brows furrow at Jeongin in confusion, “Do you live in outer part or something?” Shit. Jeongin forgot he was supposed to be a commoner.

“Uh, yeah,” he forces a laugh, “I live pretty close to the palace and I use a lot of the back roads so I don’t really see the crowds.”  _ Super convincing, Jeongin.  _ Seungmin eyes him for a moment more, then his face relaxes and he shrugs.

“That’s understandable. If we were on foot, I’d use the back roads too.” Either Jeongin isn’t a completely hopeless liar or Seungmin is really bad at seeing through bullshit. They’re quiet for a moment then, out of the blue, “You like fish, right?” 

“I don’t mind it,” Jeongin nods. He assumes they’ll be eating a lot of it while they’re in Aramoor. It’s certainly never been his favorite food, but he likes it well enough that eating it for day or two won’t bother him. Beside him, Seungmin nods as well, fingers toying with the reins in his lap. He seems oddly nervous considering that all they’re doing is going to his hometown. “What is it?” 

“I don’t know… I guess I just want you to like Aramoor.” Now it’s Jeongin’s turn to furrow his brows. “It’s my home, you know, and I think it’s really great and I love it, but I want you to as well.” Jeongin’s seen the look in his eyes - the look of pride - before. It’s the same look his parents and brothers get when they talk about their kingdom. Especially Subin. If Hirin is the apple of his eye, then Aramoor is Seungmin’s. Jeongin grins at him.

“I’m sure I will.” Seungmin visibly relaxes. “I’m excited to see it.”

 

Seungmin is right about the crowds. They stop at a small storefront closer to late afternoon than mid, which had been Seungmin’s plan. Apparently today is a market day, making the crowds worse than usual. Jeongin doesn’t see why it matters - the Capital has markets set up every day - but it seems the Aramoor is different. Unlike the Capital, which has an almost constant stream of imports, Aramoor’s are less frequent. It’s a big town, sure, but it’s still only a fraction of the size of the Capital and has a fraction of the population, so they don’t have the demand for a lot of stuff. Or something like that; Jeongin’ll be honest and admit he stopped listening to Seungmin’s chatter about a minute in. He’s sure that the importing and exporting business in Aramoor is… fascinating… it just isn’t interesting to Jeongin. It’s more interesting just to look at the houses and streets. There’s still a sense of home to them - Hirin as a kingdom has very similar architecture throughout - but they’re very clearly unique to the district. The most striking thing about Aramoor, however, is definitely the smell. It permeates almost the whole town, only growing stronger the further in they go. Jeongin nearly recoils as they pass the market, but Seungmin doesn’t seem at all bothered by the scent. No one does. Either they’re so used to it they don’t notice or everyone in this town is noseblind. Jeongin has been here less than a day and he already wishes he was.

“You can go in the front,” Seungmin climbs out of the cart and motions for Jeongin to do the same, “I’ve got to put Fish away. Just tell Sunwoo you’re with me and he’ll take you to the back.” A bell rings as Jeongin enters the store and looks around at the trinket lined shelves. The room is empty save him and he wonders if maybe Sunwoo is out right now. There hadn’t been a way for Seungmin to give him a heads up that they were arriving or anything. But Jeongin needs not worry, as it turns out, because an old man pushes through a curtained doorway on the other side just as he thinks this and squints at Jeongin. Then he breaks out into a smile of recognition.

“It’s been a while since I’ve seen you around here, Hyunjin.” Jeongin’s mouth falls open and all he can do is stand there with a stupid expression on his face. Hyunjin? Who the fuck is Hyunjin? “How’ve you been? Army treating you well?”

“Uh-” Sunwoo waves his hands in front of him dismissively, having now made his way to Jeongin.

“Nevermind, you can fill me in later. Does Seungmin know you’re here? He should be back from his trip soon. Do you want some tea?” Jeongin lets himself be ushered behind the curtain and into a small kitchen-storeroom type area. So this Hyunjin knows Seungmin… that could be fun. He shouldn’t pry, but he’s too curious not to now. “It must be what? 2 Turns since you’ve visited now? I was starting to think you’d left for good,” Sunwoo laughs and busies himself with making a fire and getting a pot of water. “Guess it really is true that you can take a man out of Aramoor, but you can’t take Aramoor out of a man.” 

“Not that I wouldn’t love to catch up with you, Sunwoo, but I think we should wait for Seungmin. But, um, could you remind me what happened last time I was here? It’s been so long that I’ve kind of forgotten.” His best attempt at a sheepish laugh comes out. Sunwoo doesn’t seem to mind, perfectly happy to talk to “Hyunjin.” The old man takes a seat across the table from Jeongin, squinting at the stove every so often.

“Well, that’s the thing; I’m not really sure. You just stopped coming one day,” he frowns, “and all Seungmin would say was that you’d left to join the army. He didn’t sound very happy about it so I didn’t ask past that. But now that you’re here,” his face brightens again, “I was hoping maybe you could shed some light on it.” There’s a creaking behind Sunwoo as the backdoor swings open to reveal Seungmin. Sunwoo turns to him, “We’ve got a visitor, Seungmin.”

“I know,” Seungmin heads to the stove and lifts the pot lid to check on the water, “I brought him.”

“You didn’t think to tell me you were bringing Hyunjin?” Sunwoo sounds incredulous, but the moment the name leaves his mouth there’s a loud clanging and equally loud cursing from Seungmin, who’s dropped the lid and is now staring at the seated pair with a mixture of shock and some unexplainable emotion.

“I’m sorry?” He splutters, eyes wide, “I brought  _ who _ ?”

“Hyun-”

“No, I heard you the first time,” Seungmin’s face has shifted to a tight smile, but the glare he’s giving Jeongin is enough to boil the water on the stove. “Sunwoo, this is Jeongin. I did tell you I was bringing  _ him _ .” Carefully he picks up the lid and replaces it on the pot, then steps over to the table and gently taps Sunwoo’s shoulder. “You might want to put on your glasses,” he says quietly. Sunwoo mumbles something in agreement and Seungmin waits for him to leave the room and go upstairs (Jeongin hadn’t even noticed the stairs. Commoners certainly had small houses) before letting the smile fall from his face and giving Jeongin the full extent of his murderous look. “You’re apologizing when he gets back.” He looks as if he wants to say more, possibly curse Jeongin out, but he holds back.

“But I didn’t do anything,” Jeongin pouts - that’s usually a killer for sympathy. Seungmin doesn’t appear moved by it. “He started calling me Hyunjin without me saying anything.”

“Sunwoo’s vision isn’t so good anymore. You should have corrected him, not pried into my personal life.” It’s hardly fair to call it prying, in Jeongin’s opinion. He’d just given Sunwoo a teeny nudge in the right direction. But that isn’t the key part of what Seungmin’s said. 

“So Hyunjin was close enough to be part of your personal life?” He fixes Seungmin with the biggest grin he can. Jeongin’s flying perilously close to the edge, he can see it in Seungmin’s face.

“I don’t think you want to push your luck with me right now.” 

“Or what?”

“I hope you know how to swim, Jeongin.” It’s at this moment that Sunwoo returns downstairs, now with glasses and no longer squinting at things, and claps his hands, seemingly utterly oblivious to the tension rolling off Seungmin. 

“Who wants some tea?”

 

It turns out commoners’ beds aren’t all that much better than the ground. Despite the fact that Seungmin’s been kind enough to use a bed roll on the floor and give Jeongin his bed to use, Jeongin can’t seem to get comfortable enough to sleep. No matter how he turns, something always manages to dig into his back. He’s given up trying, staring at the ceiling as the moon slowly lights up more and more of the room until he can look around a little. There isn’t much to say about it though. It’s rather small with a simple chest of drawers near the door with a stack of books on top and a table by the bed. Jeongin’s a bit disappointed at the lack of personal items, but perhaps Seungmin doesn’t feel the need to keep them here since he’s on the road so much. Jeongin’s always liked having little things he likes here and there in his room just to make it more unique. Maybe commoners don’t do that. There are a few things though: a picture on the table, a finely made silver necklace, and an almost luminescent shell beside it. Jeongin props himself up to properly looks at the trinkets, the photo in particular interesting him. His own family has taken quite a few - his parents insist on it for some reason - but this is something he knows is uncommon. Photos are expensive to take and it’s not a very widespread practice, even within the Capital. This one is framed as well, meaning Seungmin cares enough to wish to preserve it. He looks younger in the photo, probably in his early teens. He’s smiling with all his might and at first glance it’s the same face he makes now. But he looks happier somehow. Beside him is a man, who wears an almost identical smile. If Jeongin had to guess…

“My dad.” Jeongin looks down to the bedroll only to find Seungmin looking up at him. The words are soft and calm, but there’s an undertone of sadness to them. “That’s the only picture I have of him. It’s the only one we ever took.” Jeongin’s eyes travel back to the photo. He can feel the happiness exuding from both subjects and bites his lip. Seungmin isn’t exactly pleased with him after earlier’s incident and he doesn’t want to push too far, but he figures it’s worth a shot to ask.

“What happened to him?” His question hangs between them, too loud in the deafening silence that follows. He almost thinks that he won’t get an answer, that he overstepped too far.

“He was beaten to death by the soldiers.” Seungmin says it so simply, but the very statement makes Jeongin lightheaded and sick. He ventures a glance to Seungmin and the blank expression he’s greeted with just makes him feel worse. 

“What… what about the other stuff?” His voice is much shakier than he means it to be and as much as he wants to just pretend he never heard what Seungmin said, he knows he won’t forget it anytime soon. Seungmin sits up and picks up the necklace, which Jeongin can now see is even nicer than he’d originally thought. The pendant is in the shape of a starfish and is intricately detailed. The craftsmanship is incredible and he can’t imagine the necklace was cheap. 

“This was my dad’s wedding gift to my mom and in turn their gift to me when I was born.” He runs a finger over the delicate chain and Jeongin is reminded of his own necklace, tucked beneath his shirt. “My mom originally wanted to give it to me on my 16th birthday, but she knew she was dying and entrusted it to my dad instead. He gave it to me when I started asking about her and was old enough to understand that she was gone and I’ve had it ever since.” Carefully, Seungmin places it back on the table. “I’d wear it, but that’s just asking to be robbed and I couldn’t bear losing it.” The only thing that remains is the shell, but Seungmin hesitates slightly. He looks between Jeongin and the shell, then sighs and mumbles a “fuck it.”

“This one is from a friend,” he starts slowly.

“Was this friend Hyunjin?” Seungmin frowns slightly and there’s another silence that’s far too long for Jeongin’s liking.

“Yeah. It was,” he’s sounds almost reluctant to say it. “It’s a moon snail shell. My dad and I used to collect seashells when he had free days. I stopped after he died, but I never found one of these, even though I always wanted to. Hyunjin… Hyunjin looked for one for Cycles so he could give it to me.” 

“Seungmin?” He hums in response. “What’s the deal with Hyunjin? Who is he exactly?”

“Hyunjin was my closest friend. We met when we were 11 and I found him all beat up in the street. I took him to my house to help him and from then on we sort of became friends. I never really thought it was weird that we only ever went to my house or that he never looked all right. Honestly, it didn’t cross my mind that his life was different than mine and he never said otherwise. He made some passing comment about how he wished he had a dad like mine at some point - it must’ve been a few months after we met - and only then did I ask him about his life.” Seungmin’s frown deepens. “Hyunjin had no family, no home. He lived on the street and did his best to get by. It hurt just to listen to. I convinced my dad to let Hyunjin live with us and from that point on we were basically inseparable. He was always there for me and I can only hope he thinks the same of me.” He holds the shell in his hand, letting the moonlight wash over it. “Even when I had no one, I had Hyunjin.”

“If you two are so close then where is he now? Why hasn’t he been around for two Turns?” Seungmin’s posture stiffens and his fist closes around the shell.

“We  _ were _ close,” he corrects, “we aren’t anymore. Not since Hyunjin turned his back on me.” Jeongin can see his fist tighten slightly. “He was there when my dad died. Not just for the fallout from it, but he saw it happen just as I did. Hyunjin was the one who helped me find myself again. He knows how I feel about the military and he went ahead and decided to join them anyway.” Fingers open to reveal the shell again and Seungmin’s shoulders slump now. “It wasn’t even that that pissed me off the most though. It was the fact that Hyunjin didn’t tell me until almost the day he left. I’d have been mad no matter what, but the fact that he was leaving so soon  _ and  _ that he kept it from me… I kind of blew up at him. Then he got angry at me for that and he stormed off. I slept on it and realized I’d been pretty unfair to him, but when I went to find him I couldn’t. I asked around and everyone told me that he’d left the night before.” Seungmin’s voice turns bitter. “He didn’t even bother to try and reconcile with me, and I can only assume he didn’t want to. So there is no Seungmin and Hyunjin now; there’s just Hyunjin and just Seungmin. Even if he did show up, I don’t want to see him anymore.”

Seungmin’s chest rises and falls from his long winded and progressively more irritated story. Jeongin’s sorry for him; Seungmin really has lost all the people that matter the most to him. Sunwoo can’t fill all three of their shoes. Which is why Jeongin doesn’t buy for a second that Seungmin is still angry with Hyunjin. “That isn’t true, is it?” He asks gently.

“No,” Seungmin’s much more subdued now, “it isn’t. But it’s been two Turns; things are different now.  _ We’re _ different now. I don’t think things will ever be the same.”

“You don’t know that though,” Jeongin sends him his best reassuring smile. “Maybe if you talked and apologized to each other it would be like nothing happened.”

“Your optimism is nice, Jeongin, but that isn’t how the world works. When you lose someone there are things you can never get back.” Now Jeongin’s the one who frowns. 

“I know that. I’m not a child.” Maybe he’s never lost someone who meant the world to him, but he’s seen the effects of it. He’s sheltered, not stupid. “But you didn’t lose Hyunjin forever. You have a chance to get him back and that’s different.” Seungmin blinks at him, surprised.

“I never thought of it that way.”

“I mean, I’m sure it won’t be exactly the same, but different isn’t always bad. Sometimes things have to change; that’s how life is.”

“You’re wise for your age,” there’s a hint of playfulness in Seungmin’s tone, but Jeongin can tell he means it, “How’d you get so smart, kid?” 

“Ah, I’m not that smart,” he rubs the back of head, “I just read a lot.” He’s not got much else to do. It’s hard to have a hobby when you aren’t allowed to leave the palace, so Jeongin’s made do with reading his way through the library. That could probably keep him occupied for his whole life if he wanted it to. Hirin’s royal library is famous even across Neris for its vast collection of texts. 

“That’s more than some people,” Seungmin snorts. Jeongin tilts his head, remembering something one of his tutors had told him.

“Can you read?”

“Me?” Seungmin raises a brow and gestures to the stack of books on his dresser. “Yeah. Why?” 

“I know that most everybody in the Capital learns how to read, but I thought it was different in the districts.” 

“Well, not everyone is literate,” Seungmin shrugs, “but it depends on a lot of stuff. Mostly your parents or your job. My dad didn’t learn to read until he met my mom, but he taught me the basics when I was young. Hyunjin’d never had anyone to teach him before I met him, but he’s literate now. Even if he weren’t, they’d have taught him in the Capital I assume. I don’t think there are any districts where  _ no one _ can read. Someone’s gotta be able to read the registry. Maybe they aren’t reading any philosophical texts, but they know what they need to.”

“Can Woojin read? Does he have books?” Jeongin didn’t bring any with him and he needs something to do in his downtime. Heaven forbid he do more work than is asked of him.

“Kid, Woojin’s like the scholar of District Nine. You’ll have books, don’t worry.” He must see the way Jeongin’s face lights up and his mouth open to ask another question. “No, I don’t know what they’re about. Just wait until we get there. Now you should try to get some sleep. We’re only here for another day so make the most of that bed because you’ve got another hebdomad of sleeping on the ground coming up.”

  
  


Jeongin does his best to keep track of Seungmin in the bustling crowd, but that’s easier said than done. Seungmin isn’t particularly tall compared to everyone else and he blends in easily. It seems that it’s practically every few moments that Jeongin’s having to weave through people, doing his very best not to bump into anyone. He’s gotten enough dirty looks today to last him a life time, but it isn’t like it’s his fault that everyone’s packed together like matchsticks. Maybe if they moved out of the way, he wouldn’t run into them, but Jeongin digresses. He can complain about people later; finding Seungmin is a much higher priority. You’d think he’d make it easier, considering that he’d been the one to tell Jeongin “Stay close,” but apparently not. Damn Seungmin for not wearing a bright scarf or a hat or something. Jeongin’s mistakenly called no less than five other people Seungmin since they’ve been at this accursed market and quite frankly it’s gotten embarrassing. Stupid Seungmin and his stupid wish to be nice to Sunwoo. Sunwoo gets on just fine when Seungmin isn’t there, it’s not as if he  _ needs _ them to buy him groceries. Why’d Jeongin have to come anyway? He could’ve stayed back, but no, Seungmin had insisted he come. It isn’t fair. Jeongin doesn’t deserve-

“Oh, there you are!” Jeongin stops just before he runs smack into Seungmin who’s smiling as though Jeongin didn’t just spend a solid two minutes looking for him. He digs through the burlap sack he’s using to carry the groceries and tosses Jeongin an apple. “I figured you might be hungry.” Jeongin wants to be mad at him for all of trouble he’s caused him, but he can’t be now. Actually, he’s kind of touched. “I’ve only got a few more things left to get, so you can wait near the bread stand. That way we won’t have to keep finding each other. Sound good?” Jeongin doesn’t know where the bread stand is, but he wants to seem independent and capable so he nods and Seungmin pats him on the shoulder with a smile. “Great. I’ll see you soon.”

Then Seungmin disappears into the sea of people and Jeongin can just watch. He hopes that Seungmin doesn’t finish shopping too quickly because hell if Jeongin isn’t going to find that bread stand. He’s gotten this far by wandering and that’s really all he can do. Anything is better than standing around, quite frankly. He tries to stay closer to the stalls where the crowd is thinner, but he’s pushed progressively further into the thick of things as eager customers rush forward. All in all, Jeongin has no idea where in the market he is, and no reference point to find the bread. 

“Are you lost?” Jeongin whips around to see a girl studying him. She looks maybe his age, give or take a few Turns. “You were walking around all confused looking and stuff,” she waves her hands to demonstrate, “so I figured you must be.” A pleased smile crosses her face, like she’s solved the mystery of Jeongin’s existence. “First time here? You need a local like me to show you around. What are you looking for…?” 

“Jeongin,” he blurts. “My name is Jeongin. I’m looking for the bread stand.” The girl’s face scrunches up in thought for a moment then she grins and nods.

“I’ll take you there!” Jeongin feels her grab his hand and tug him forward, pushing through the crowd without care for the other people. 

“What’s your name?” He ducks beneath an arm, mumbling apologies for the both of them. 

“You can call me… Goeun.” She says after a moment. “Where are you from, Jeongin?” 

“The Capital.” Goeun snorts up ahead.

“So why the hell’d you come here?” 

“Huh?”

“Usually people are trying to leave Aramoor,” she explains, “and we’re not really a big tourist destination anymore. Guess all the rich and fancy people’ve got better things to do then come by.” Goeun glances back at Jeongin briefly, bitterness plain on her face. “Not that you’d get that, seeing as you’re from the Capital and all. Who doesn’t want to be there?” Her hold on his hand tightens and only now does Jeongin realize that the crowd has vanished from around them and that Goeun is leading him away from the market. In a panic, he tries to pull away and opens his mouth to yell for Seungmin, anyone, but cold metal touches his neck before he can.

“Don’t even think about it.” Goeun’s eyes have gone cold and the cheerful, warm smile she’d greeted Jeongin with has been replaced with a dangerous one. “You’ll be dead before the first word so much as leaves your lips. I’m not really in the mood to kill anyone today, so just cooperate and we’ll let you go. Okay?” Jeongin swallows hard and nods furiously. Goeun pulls her knife away from his throat and continues leading Jeongin away from the market, down a side street and finally into a shadowy alley. “I found one.”

“He’s a kid.” Six pairs of eyes settle on Jeongin all scrutinizing him like a diamond being assessed for its worth. “What’s he possibly got that we want?” One of the pairs of eyes steps forward and he towers over Jeongin. “This little brat doesn’t even have money on him.”

“He’s from the Capital,” Goeun turns so she’s facing Jeongin and something glints in her eyes, “and he’s got something even better.” Her knife comes up again and Jeongin leans his head back, trying to get away, but instead of going towards his throat, cuts the first button of his shirt.  _ Shit _ . Jeongin knows what she’s talking about now. The cold bite of metal hits his skin again as the blade is slipped beneath the thin gold chain on his neck and as Goeun moves the blade more and more of the necklace is revealed until Jeongin can hear a low whistle from the man in front of him, who he’s presuming to be the leader of this group, which can only mean that they’ve seen the pendant: a magnificent dragon with tiny emeralds for eyes.

“You’ve got a good as eye as ever I see,” the leader addresses Goeun and she smirks at the praise. “A rich thing like you won’t miss something like this.” Jeongin’s eyes widen and he blinks back tears he can feel forming.

“You don’t understand,” it comes out as little more than a whisper, “I’m not rich. My… my parents gave it to me as a family heirloom.” There’s no sympathy in the eyes of his robbers.

“We lie all our lives, Jeongin,” Goeun tuts at him, “you’ll have to do better than that if you want to convince us.” 

“I’m not lying.” Even Jeongin can hear the desperation in his voice. “I swear to you I’m-”

“Jeongin!” His name rings out from nearby and Jeongin has never loved Seungmin more than right now. Goeun and the leader exchange a look.

“You didn’t think to check if he was there with anyone?” 

“He was alone when I found him!” 

“We haven’t got time for this; just grab the necklace and go.” Goeun’s hand wraps around the chain and with a solid tug that pulls Jeongin forward with it the clasp breaks and Jeongin can do nothing but reach out in despair for his last bit of home as the group bolt. Footsteps fall heavily behind him and Seungmin breathes hard as he struggles to catch his breath, but Jeongin hardly registers that. He just stares off into space in front of him, tears slowly dripping from his face. Seungmin turns Jeongin to face him and immediately his eyes search his face, neck, and now exposed collarbone for any injury, concern evident on his features. Seeing none, relief lights up his eyes, but he still looks worried.

“What did they take?” He asks softly and Jeongin’s vision focuses on him.

“A necklace my mother gave me,” his voice wavers. “It was supposed to protect me.”

 

_ “Jeongin?” Jeongin’s head jerks up from the page he’s staring at at the sound of his mother’s voice. It isn’t often that his parents seek him out these days, allowing him to be more independent instead. It’s even less often that they disturb him in the library since he’s usually there for a reason relating to his tutoring and his parents place a lot of importance on his education. His curiosity is piqued now and he watches as his mother as she takes a seat beside him, placing a wooden box on the table. Jeongin can’t help but eye it, putting two and two together and guessing that it’s a gift for him. It isn’t his birthday though, and the king and queen don’t really give gifts out of the blue. “What are you reading about today?”  _

_ His mother studies the book as Jeongin turns it towards her. “The different kingdoms in Neris,” he says, placing a finger on the map. “This is our kingdom,” his finger drags up on the map, “and this one is Bellmere. We don’t really like that one.” Jeongin makes a face. He doesn’t know exactly  _ **_why_ ** _ they don’t like Bellmere - his tutor had told him that he’d learn more about it when he was older - but he knows that it isn’t a very nice kingdom. At least, that’s what he’s been taught. “But we’re also kind of friends with them.” To be honest it doesn’t make much sense to him. “Why are we friends with them if we don’t like them?” Jeongin thinks it’s stupid. His mother strokes his hair. _

_ “Well, it’s complicated,” she seems thoughtful in her wording, “our kingdoms were enemies for a long time and they fought each other a lot. But times have changed since then and it’s better for us to be friends with them right now, even if we don’t like them.” _

_ “But why?”  _

_ “There’s a lot of history that leads up to that that you should learn first, Jeongin. It’ll make sense when you’re older and understand more. Even your brother’s only just started learning about Hirin and Bellmere’s relationship.” His mother always speaks very gently to him, like she understands even if she doesn’t. She never makes him feel less than his brothers even though he’s younger and knows less. “But to put it simply, Bellmere has done many bad things to our kingdom. Their ruling family and ours do not get along. However, in order to preserve the peace we have to act friendly with each other. Neris can only remain unified so long as all kingdoms put aside their feuds. And the good of Neris as a whole is more important than the petty squabble of two kingdoms,” she leans in close as if whispering conspiratorially. “Besides, you should always keep your friends close, but your enemies closer.” Jeongin giggles as her breath tickles his ear. _

_ “They wouldn’t do anything bad to us now, right?” He asks it so lightly, not quite grasping the weight of the so called bad things, but the queen isn’t going to be the one to explain all the war and assassination that’s transpired to a child barely in his eighth Turn, much less her own son. Instead she grasps his hand firmly and fixes him with a very certain look.  _

_ “No, they won’t. And so long as I’m alive, they will never do anything bad to  _ **_you_ ** _.” The queen gestures for Jeongin to move closer and he scootches the chair until it’s touching hers. She slides the box forward so it’s right in front of them and carefully opens it. Inside, on a velvet pillow, is a gold necklace. What draws Jeongin’s attention isn’t the gold, but the dragon pendant. It’s possibly the prettiest thing he’s seen in his rather short life and his mouth forms an O at the sight. “This is for you.”  _

_ “Really?” Jeongin’s never been given anything remotely as delicate as this before. He’d been deemed too young, even though Jeongin promised he’d be careful. The fact that his mother thinks he’s responsible enough to keep this means Jeongin’s more grown up in his parents’ eyes now and his chest swells at the thought. His mother nods. _

_ “It isn’t very traditional, but I hope that it will be meaningful to you nonetheless.” She lifts the necklace from the box and Jeongin turns his head so she can put it on him, practically buzzing with excitement. “Do you know why I chose the dragon?” Jeongin shakes his head a bit. _

_ “The first reason is because it’s our family’s crest, of course, and I wanted you to always have a bit of your father and I with you. And to always remember where you come from. No one can take that away from you.” Jeongin’s been taught from birth to have pride in his lineage and he does. “The second is because the dragon symbolizes protection,” his mother turns Jeongin to face her and she gives him a look of pure adoration. “Before you know it you’ll outgrow the safety I can readily give you. Even when I’m not there, this will protect you.” Jeongin gazes at her wide-eyed.  _

_ “I don’t want to outgrow you,” he says and leans forward to hug her.  _

_ “Maybe not, but one day you will. Everyone reaches a point where they no longer need their parents. But, Jeongin?” He tilts his head up slightly so he can see better. “You will never outgrow our love. This dragon means that too.” _

 

Seungmin doesn’t try to comfort Jeongin with empty words like “she won’t be upset,” or “you can always buy another.” Maybe because he understands, maybe because he realizes that Jeongin doesn’t want to hear that right now. Instead he rubs Jeongin’s arm gently and leads him back to Sunwoo’s shop, avoiding the large crowds to give Jeongin more privacy while he cries. Soft murmurs of “you’ll be alright” fill the air between them. 

“You know,” Seungmin begins after a while, “maybe this isn’t the best thing to say right now, but I think that necklace did protect you.” Jeongin looks at him through confused, watery eyes. “Robbers aren’t always known for their mercy. They took your most treasured belonging, but maybe that kept you alive. I know that probably doesn’t make you feel all that much better, but-” Jeongin stops listening after that. Maybe Seungmin’s right. Maybe the dragon really did protect him. Seungmin did find him after all, and he isn’t dead. Jeongin isn’t usually one to believe in the mystical, but just this once, it’s nice to. His mother always used to tell him that a mother’s love would always protect her children; maybe that’s true after all.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> would it be a jc chapter without a flashback I think not  
> at least this one's somewhat less angsty  
> also Jeongin getting mistaken for Hyunjin is something we planned way back when we started writing this because they were the two members we would get mixed up when we were first getting into skiz  
> (I am you y'alllllll I really like it!! I am you more like I am crying)


	15. XV. Double Trouble

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> felix, changbin, and chan: what (and i cannot stress this enough) the actual fuck

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> ....i'm literally so sorry it took so long it's just that my braincells?? they're dead and gone i haven't heard from them in months

“Changbin, what the  _ fuck _ ?” Chan shouts, and Changbin is so,  _ so  _ screwed. He watches as Chan, frozen in the doorway, looks at him, then at Felix, then back at him again, the shock on his face growing with each passing moment. 

“Chan, I can explain.” Changbin lies straight through his teeth, because there’s really no good way to explain why, or more importantly,  _ how, _ Felix - a boy from the Other Side - is here in his Quarters right now. The truth would hardly sound believable, even to Chan. He opens his mouth, hoping for a miracle to get him out of this bind, but nothing comes. The look on Chan’s face sours from confusion to frustration and Changbin’s heart sinks. Chan takes a step towards him and Changbin steps back in turn, moving to block Felix from view as much as possible.

“Changbin.” Chan’s voice is quiet now. “ _ Explain. _ ”

Changbin says nothing for a beat, still trying to figure out what he can say that won’t simply dig him into an even deeper hole, and the frustration on Chan’s face sours further. He moves forward again, and Changbin takes another swift step back. “It’s not whatever you’re thinking. It’s not.” 

“And what am I thinking, exactly?” Chan asks in the same low tone.  “That you’re in the middle of doing something stupid and making a mess?” Changbin bristles, but stays silent. “That  _ he _ ,” Chan points an accusatory finger at Felix, who shrinks in on himself, “is most definitely  _ not  _ supposed to be here? That he’s-” 

“He’s  _ scared _ ,” Changbin cuts in, “and he’s confused.” He glances back to see Felix pressed flat against the wall, curled in a tight ball, eyes wide and stricken, trembling, and puts a hand out to further shield him. “You don’t know what the fuck is going on and you’re making it worse.”

Chan’s face goes slack for a moment, then flickers with thinly veiled anger. “What?” He steps forward again, eyes flaring, and this time Changbin holds his ground. 

“Chan,” Changbin says, trying to keep his voice even, “can you trust me on this? Please? You’re home now; there aren’t any tricks or ploys here. It’s  _ me _ ; I’m not out to get you. Just let me explain, okay? You’re scaring Felix.”

Guilt flashes across Chan’s face, bright for a moment before dimming as a shadow of recognition wipes it away. “Felix,” he echoes slowly, eyes narrowing, “you don’t mean the  _ Outsider _ ?” 

Changbin flinches at his voice, raised again, and icy. He’s about to bite back, try to talk reason into Chan, when he hears a muffled sob from behind his back and his head whips around automatically. His mind goes blank. He freezes at the sight of Felix: his shoulders shaking, a hand clasped over his mouth, tears tracing lines down his cheeks, gleaming in the  morning light. Their eyes meet and Changbin’s chest squeezes so tight he feels like all the air has been knocked out of his lungs. Without thinking, he sinks down to kneel in front of Felix, and Felix’s eyes follow him as he moves, scared and desperate. “Breathe, Felix,” he says in as gentle a voice as he can.

Felix shakes his head, blinking hard.

“You’re panicking now, but it’ll help. You just need to breathe.”

“I  _ can’t _ ,” Felix chokes out, pressing the hand that had just been covering his mouth against his chest. “It hurts. Everything  _ hurts _ .”

Changbin frowns. It  _ shouldn’t  _ hurt. Felix just took the healing draught the night before, and his skin appears to be free of all the cuts and bruises it’d had when Changbin found him; physically, he should be fine now. Before he has a chance to figure out why he isn’t, he’s reminded all too abruptly of Chan’s presence in the room. 

“Changbin!” He says sharply, “what are you  _ doing _ ?”

Changbin turns reluctantly away from Felix. “I’m trying to help.”

“He’s an  _ Outsider!  _ He’s dangerous. Get away from him.”

“He’s not-” Changbin tries to protest, but Chan won’t hear it. He crosses the room with startling speed and takes Changbin’s wrist, tugging him up gently despite his tone, but away from Felix all the same. 

“Just because you’ve seen him wandering around a few times doesn’t mean you know anything about him,” Chan hisses lowly, pulling Changbin to a stop by his side. “The people on the Other Side are  _ dangerous _ , Changbin. The Barrier separates us for a reason.”

“We don’t  _ know _ that. It’s been generations since the Barrier went up; things could have changed. And even if they haven’t, there’s no way  _ everyone  _ on the Other Side is bad, just like not everyone here is good. I mean  _ look  _ at him, does he look dangerous?”

“It doesn’t matter if he . . .” Chan trails off as his eyes drift past Changbin, back into the room where they’d left Felix. His grip goes slack, and Changbin turns, pulling himself free, to follow Chan’s gaze. He stares blankly at the empty room for a heartbeat until he realizes what it means. 

“Fuck.” Changbin spins towards the open door and takes off after Felix, but he barely makes it outside before Chan's hand is on wrist again, stopping him.

“Just let him go, Changbin. He belongs on the Other Side anyway. Once he makes it through the Barrier he won't be a problem for you anymore.”

Changbin hesitates. Of course it would be easier, better, for Felix to just go home now, but there’s still a knot of dread in his stomach at the thought of it. He narrows his eyes at Felix’s retreating back, watching closely as he runs, and notices a stumbling kind of stagger in his steps. He hears Felix’s voice in his head, “ _ it hurts, everything hurts _ ,” and the knot in his stomach tightens:  _ why is he still hurt?  _ Felix draws closer and closer to the Barrier, and Changbin bites his lip, unease gnawing at him. He looks past Felix, past the field of blueburns, past the river, to the Barrier itself, shimmering like waves of heat in the sun, and it hits him. “Chan!” He turns to face him, eyes wide, urgent. “You have to stop him!”

“I just said-”

“Please!” Changbin interrupts, closing his free hand around Chan’s, shaking. “The Barrier, it’s a wall of pure magic. He’s lived in a magic-free world his whole life so his body isn’t used to it. He probably barely survived passing through the first time; if he goes through it again now it could kill him!”

Chan looks at him, uncertain, then wavers. Changbin waits with bated breath to see the glimmer of a decision light across his face, and when it comes a moment later it’s all he needs to slip his hands free, turn, and take off running. He’s barely five paces along when the wind picks up, helping him forward as he races towards Felix, sweeping past him and rustling through the grass up ahead. He knows, even at a distance, that it’s slowing Felix down, just as he’d asked. The gap between them closes quickly, and Changbin reaches Felix before he makes it past the first smattering of blueburns. He comes to a stop in front of him. The flowers twist and sigh around them as the wind begins to lessen. 

Felix fixes pleading eyes on him, unable to say anything around the sporadic, ragged gasps wracking his body. Changbin knows what he wants though, and a hot flash of guilt cuts through him, knowing he seems to be the only thing standing in the way of it. But he knows it isn’t just him standing in between Felix and everything waiting for him on the Other Side; he knows that at least if he stops Felix now, there’s a chance he’ll be able to return to his home once he recovers, so he stands fast. “I’m sorry,” he says softly, “you can’t. The Barrier will tear you apart if you try to get out now. It’s too much magic. You’re already weak from coming through it last night; your body wouldn’t be able to take it.”

Felix’s face draws into a pained, defeated grimace, and he sways where he stands, tipping forward, off-balance. Then as if to prove Changbin’s point, his legs give out from under him and he collapses, reaching a hand out blindly for something to hold him up. Changbin takes a quick step forward, catching Felix just before his knees hit the ground, and Felix’s outstretched hand catches on the collar of his shirt. It stays there less than a heartbeat before Felix snatches it away, cradling it against his chest like he’s been burned. Changbin lowers him gently the rest of the way to the down and then draws his arms back. Felix slumps over, groaning, and his eyes fall shut. Changbin feels a wave of deja vu and a chord of fear strikes in him. “Felix, stay awake just a little longer. Keep your eyes open if you can. You’re gonna be okay, we just need to get you someplace safe so you can rest.”

Felix picks his head up, the movement heavy with pain, and there’s a strange look on his face, mixed in with the dismay. His half-open eyes lift to meet Changbin’s, as questioning as they are fearful. “I recognize that,” he says slowly, straining to get the words out. “We’ve been here before.” His voice doesn’t lift enough at the end for it to be a question, but Changbin nods.

“Last night after you came through the Barrier. You were almost unconscious when I found you; I could barely keep you awake long enough to get you inside and make sure you weren’t going to die.”

Recognition ebbs slowly onto Felix’s face, creeping across his cheeks and settling in the lines drawn tight by the overwhelming, deep-cutting ache weighing him down. He sighs, shuddering, defeated. “Okay.”

Changbin blinks as Felix extends a hand out to him. “What are you . . .” he trails off, uncertain. “Do you want to go back?”

“No.”

Changbin continues to stare at Felix’s outstretched hand. “Will you go anyway?” He asks cautiously after a long pause.

Felix groans, but nods all the same. 

“Okay.” Changbin echoes. The tight feeling in his chest loosens a bit. He takes Felix’s hand and pulls him up. Felix comes to his feet shakily, and he leans against Changbin’s side so he doesn’t have to bear the full burden of his own weight. Changbin adjusts, ducking so Felix can drape an arm across his shoulders, and placing a tentative hand on Felix’s back to brace him if necessary. Then he half-drags, half-carries Felix back to his Quarters, away from the Barrier and instead towards Chan, who’s still waiting by the open front door. Chan doesn’t say anything as they approach, or when they shuffle awkwardly past him to get inside - he just follows silently, closing the door behind them. 

By the time they reach the sleep mat Changbin had set up for Felix the night before, he’s entirely slumped against Changbin, head rolled against his collar and hands hanging limp, so when Changbin finally maneuvers him down onto the rumpled blanket, he isn’t surprised to see that Felix’s eyes have fallen shut. Honestly, it’s a relief to see Felix sleeping again: it should help with both the pain and his body’s healing. Changbin lets out a heavy breath that feels like it’s been stuck in his throat for a while now, and fresh air rushes into his lungs when he inhales again. Things don’t seem quite as overwhelming as they did just a little bit earlier. He revels in this newfound, tentative feeling only a moment though, before Chan clears his throat and all the rest of Changbin’s problems come rushing back into the forefront of his mind. He turns quickly to face him. “Chan, I can ex-”

“Wait, Changbin,” Chan cuts him off, “before you say anything, I just . . .” He trails off, rund a hand down his face, sighs. “While you were running around I had time to cool off and I just . . . I owe you an apology. I shouldn’t have blown up at you without giving you a chance to explain anything. It was unfair of me, and it wasn’t okay. I’m sorry.”

“Oh. Thanks.” Changbin offers him a small, sheepish smile, and picks his way across the room. “Have the meetings been getting worse?”

Chan doesn’t say anything, but his lips draw into a thin line, and Changbin figures that’s all the answer he’ll get. He files it away for later, then sits down, leans up against the wall, and tugs Chan’s sleeve until he joins him on the ground beside him. “I owe you an apology too. Or at least an explanation. I should have told you everything earlier, but I honestly wasn’t sure what was going on either.”

“Have you figured it out now?”

“Not really,” he admits, “I can tell you what I  _ do  _ know though.”

Chan nods. “Let’s hear it.”

“Okay.” Changbin recounts the night before, starting with how he’d happened by chance to be out near the blueburns when he’d felt the shock of the Barrier jolt through him like lightning. Chan’s brows draw in at this, but he remains silent. Changbin continues without noticing the change. He tells Chan about how he’d seen shadowed figures running outside the Barrier, how, when he’d gotten closer, he’d seen a body crumpled in the flowers just within it, how he couldn’t believe his eyes when he actually  _ recognized  _ the face that had been angled up at the sky. What were the odds that it’d be someone he’s seen through the Barrier before, right? Chan stays quiet, letting him talk uninterrupted as he goes on to explain that it had been hard to tell through the rain whether Felix was even breathing, that he’d been relieved to feel a pulse when he checked for one, but that the relief had faded once Felix had begun to stir and the true extent of his injuries had become clear. Changbin frowns at the memory. “I gave him some blueburn petal since he was pretty badly hurt, and he didn’t take much, but I think it was enough to keep the pain at bay until I could carry him inside and brew the healing draught.”

“How was he hurt?” Chan asks, finally cutting in. “Was it  _ all  _ just from coming through the Barrier?”

Changbin’s eyes drift across the room to land on Felix. He shakes his head. “I don’t think so. There were cuts and some nasty bruises on his face, and the rain washed most of it away, but there was definitely blood too, and that was just what I could see. It was probably even worse than that. I’m pretty sure something brutal happened right before he made it inside here.”

Changbin doesn’t notice how small his voice has gotten until Chan matches it. “That’s terrible.” He speaks quietly, but the words make the air feel heavy around them.

“Yeah.” Changbin nods, and realizes all of a sudden just how tired he is. The chaos of the morning finally seems to be catching up to him now that his heart is no longer racing faster than his mind, distracting him from both the mental and physical exhaustion still clinging to him from the night before. He tears his eyes away from Felix and lets his head tilt back to rest on the wall. There’s a long beat of silence before Chan speaks again.

“What happened next?”

Changbin explains what had happened that morning before Chan had shown up, and Chan listens carefully until the end. When Changbin finishes he braces himself for a storm of questions, for some kind of critique of how he’d handled the situation (he knows he could have done a much better job), but nothing comes. Instead, when he glances over at Chan, he sees his brows furrowed in thought.

“What?” He asks curiously.

Chan shakes his head. “Nothing. Did he really throw a chair at you.” 

“Yeah, he did.” Changbin huffs, then deflates. “I can’t blame him though. He woke up in pain in an unfamiliar place, and the last thing he remembered was probably running for his life. He had every right to panic, and I definitely didn’t help.” Changbin pauses, the atmosphere of the room feels suffocatingly heavy again. “I probably scared him more than you did, actually.”

“I’m sure you didn’t,” Chan says softly.

“I told him magic is real, and that I knew his name because I’d seen him talking to himself through an invisible magic barrier before,  _ and  _ that he’s trapped _ inside  _ that magic barrier now. I don’t think I could have freaked him out any more if I’d tried.” Changbin draws his knees up to his chest. “Do you think he’s gonna be okay?”

Chan lets out a heavy sigh, and reaches out to take Changbin’s hand, giving it a reassuring squeeze. “Yeah, he’ll be all right. Don’t worry about it too much right now, you’re clearly already exhausted.”

“That’s a lot easier said than done,” Changbin admits. “I feel like it’ll be my fault if anything happens to him now.” 

“Nothing’s going to happen to him, Changbin. Especially not if you’re looking out for him. He’ll be feeling better in no time, and then he can go back home, no problem.”

“What if the Barrier does the same thing to him when he leaves? Even if he’s completely healed when he goes through it, he might get just as hurt all over again.”

“Changbin, look at me.” Chan’s voice is gentle, but it commands his attention. Changbin turns to face him. “We’re not going to figure anything out this instant. It’s okay. There’s time for that later. Worrying about it right now isn’t going to help. What you need is rest.”

Changbin wants to protest, but the look on Chan’s face and the continuously creeping exhaustion keep him from doing so. “Okay,” he says finally, admitting defeat for the moment.

Chan nods, satisfied, and shifts so Changbin can lay against him comfortably. 

“Thanks,” Changbin mumbles, twisting so he can curl into Chan’s side. Chan wraps an arm around him and Changbin feels very young again all of a sudden, like he’s just clambered onto Chan’s sleep mat needing comfort from nightmares. That used to happen a lot, he remembers. 

“No problem,” Chan says gently, and Changbin lets his eyes fall shut. Exhaustion finally claims him, and he falls asleep quickly, lulled by the sound of even breathing. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> so idk if you could tell that i wrote this in like,, 300 word chunks at random times over the course of literally and entire month but that's why it's so disjointed and i'm sorry but i hope it's better than nothing :/// thanks for sticking around if you're still here <3333


	16. XVI. Nevermore

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> hey y'all so I've literally got no excuse for not updating other than I suck and school really kicked my ass and my muse ;-; I'm sorryyyy but I'm back and semi-alive and on break soon so hopefully things will get done! if they don't feel free to yell at me you guys deserve more consistent updates <3 big shoutout to Taemin he really wrote like 3/4 of this chap who would I - who would we as a people - be without him

It’s with trepidation that Minho knocks on the polished door to his father’s office. His report for the Cycle isn’t due yet and the King rarely summons him unless there’s something drastic to discuss. But there’s no reason Minho can think of him to do so right now, which only leaves one reason: he’s been scolded for something. Minho doesn’t _think_ he’s done anything worth being scolded for, but the King has never seemed to have a problem finding something. Still, they’re both adults; they can talk it out. Hopefully. A muffled “enter” comes from the other side of the door and Minho steels his nerves as he does so. The chair at his father’s desk is turned so he can only see the back and Minho clears his throat a bit.

“You wanted to see me, sir?” The chair rotates and rather than the King, it’s Subin that stares back at Minho. “Why are you here?” He can’t help the sigh that escapes him.

“I wanted to talk to you.” Subin says it as if it’s the most obvious thing in the world.

“So does Father.” His brother’s head shakes. “He _summoned_ me, Subin.”

“No,” Subin gestures for Minho to take the seat across from him. Minho doesn’t. “I did.”

“Then why-”

“Would you have come if you’d known that?” If there’s any bitterness in the question, it’s well hidden in the evenness of Subin’s voice.

“I’d have come if the First Prince summoned me, yes.” A brow raises. “It’s my duty.”

“I see,” Subin smiles almost ruefully. “Well, you’re here now so it doesn’t matter much.” Uncomfortable silence falls between them, as it always does. Minho shifts, waiting for his brother to continue, but he doesn’t.

“I’ll go then,” he bows slightly and moves to take his leave. There’s rustling behind him.

“Minho,” Subin’s standing now, “where is Jeongin?” Minho freezes where he stands.

“I don’t know,” he sounds more calm than he feels, “I’d assume he’s around here somewhere. You know I don’t see him much these days.”

“You think I haven’t noticed he’s gone? I do still try to check up on him, only he’s nowhere to be found. Jeongin wouldn’t just run away.”

“That’s all good and well, Subin, but why does that mean I have anything to do with this?” His brother’s eyes bore into his.

“Fine. Then I’ll tell Mother and Father.” Minho’s eyes widen in panic and he lunges forward to grab Subin’s wrist.

“You can’t,” he shakes his head frantically, “you can’t tell them.” Subin carefully pries Minho’s fingers from his wrist.

“Then tell me where Jeongin is.”

“I can’t,” Minho can hear the sharp intake of breath and waves his hands to placate his brother, “because I don’t know right now. All I can tell you is that he’s doing me a favor and that he agreed to it.”

“Let me get this straight,” Subin pinches his brow, “you asked our brother - our _baby_ brother - to go out and do you a “favor” without even thinking of the consequences? He could die, Minho!”

“Of course I thought about the consequences,” Minho hisses. “I’d never let Jeongin do something I thought was too risky. He’s safe, I’ve arranged for that. Believe when I say any worry you’re having right now, I’ve had a million times over.” He’s beyond terrified that something will happen to Jeongin, even more so because he won’t be able to do anything about it. “I thought this through and I planned for it. I wasn’t made general because I was an idiot, so please trust me. Trust me as a general,” he gives Subin an almost pleading look, “trust me as your brother.”

“I _do_ trust you.” Minho pulls back, startled. “I’ll keep your secret on one condition: I want you to be part of my council.”

“What?” Minho almost laughs in his brother’s face. His council? He’d never even considered himself in the running. They aren’t close enough for that. But then, maybe this is Subin’s way of extending the olive branch.

“Traditionally, the General of the Army is on the King’s council.”

“I know that, but it’s not like that means anything.” Minho isn’t on their father’s, passed over for one of the older generals instead. Councillors frequently didn’t change from king to king and he’d just assumed that Subin would keep the same general. “Besides, are you sure it’s a good idea? We don’t exactly see eye to eye.”

“Well, that’s why I want you there. The point of a council isn’t that everyone agrees with me, it’s that you advise me. If no one ever opposes me then I’ll inevitably do something wrong. And like I said,” Subin smiles, genuinely this time, “I trust you. Maybe more than anyone else. We’re blood, after all.” Minho can’t refute that. Beneath all the awkwardness and tension, he trusts Subin too. Because of how they were raised, they never really had anyone else they could. Outside of their family, everyone is regarded with some suspicion. They’ve been betrayed too many times in Hirin’s history not to be wary. It isn’t like being related prevents that from happening, it’s just significantly less prevalent. Minho and Subin may not like each other, but it’s not like Minho’s ever wanted to kill his brother.

“You swear you won’t tell?” Subin nods.

“As long as nothing happens to Jeongin, I won’t say anything.” Subin purses his lips. “But if anything goes wrong…”

“I know,” Minho looks down at his hands, “I don’t expect you to keep that a secret.”

“Even though it’ll end badly for you?”

“Jeongin’s more important. I wouldn’t forgive myself if he was hurt or… or if he died. I wouldn’t ask anyone else to either. And,” he bites lip, “our parents deserve to know if something happens to him. So don’t worry, because I’ll tell them myself if that’s the case.”

“You’ve grown up a lot.”

Minho shrugs, “Didn’t really have a choice.” His position isn’t one that allows for childishness or foolish mistakes. Something flashes across Subin’s face and he frowns a bit.

“I didn’t mean-”

“I know. It’s okay,” Minho cuts him off. “You don’t need to walk on eggshells about it.” Subin’s frown doesn’t lift, so Minho switches to a less uncomfortable topic. “So how is your council going to work? There’s no need for us to meet every fortnight, I assume.”

“No, it’s more for if Father isn’t here for a while. Mostly it’s just because he wants me to figure out who I want on it.”

“You aren’t inheriting his?” That’s not what Minho’d expect. The King is rather set in the traditional ways.

“I’m supposed to,” Subin lets out a long sigh, “but most of them are old and tiresome. Some of them were put on the council by our grandfather. They never listen to anything I have to say and I know I’m supposed to respect them, but they make it very hard sometimes. I’m all for tradition, not being stuck 40 Turns in the past. The others are Father’s age and they’re not much better.” If Minho didn’t know any better he’d say his brother is pouting. He’s used to being listened to and given what he wants. “They all act like I'm too young. Sun and stars, I'm 25. Father was younger when he took over.”

“They've known you since you were a baby, of course they still think of you a kid.” It's inevitable that anyone close to the king will meet his children at some point. Though they're kept from the public, they can't be hidden from everyone. “If it's any consolation, I get it in my meetings too.” The majority of the current generals are probably close to at least double Minho’s age and though he's earned their respect in the past three Turns, he's not deaf to their mumblings of his youth. It's even more irritating when he has to meet with another kingdom’s general. “At least you don't get the nepotism comments.”

 

“General Moon is in your office, sir.”

“Again?” It hasn’t even been a fortnight since their last meeting. Not to mention that Byungwoo hasn’t even been up in the mountains during that time. “Aren’t you off duty?” He sighs as he enters the room.

“So? It’s not like I’m forbidden from coming here on my time off.” Byungwoo’s made himself quite comfortable in Minho’s chair, feet propped up on the desk and hands folded behind his head. Minho makes a disapproving sound in the back on his throat and swats Byungwoo’s boots down.

“I thought one of your sisters was getting married.” Byungwoo’s father is one of the lesser nobles: an earl who resides in District Six. As the King hears any and all such announcements, Minho’s probably known about the engagement just as long as Byungwoo has.

“She did,” Byungwoo confirms.

“Then why are you back? You’ve still got a couple of days left and surely you’d rather spend them with your family then in my office.”

“You make me sound lazy; we can’t all be workaholics like you.”

“I know you’re not lazy,” Minho shakes his head, “I made you my second in command for a reason. I’m just saying that you should make the most of your days off. That’s what I’d do, anyway. But why _are_ you here?”

“Ah,” Byungwoo scratches the back of his head, “this might not mean much, but I saw them. The riots I mean.” He glances over to the map. “I couldn’t remember if you’d marked any down for Six yet.” Minho grimaces. The problem is only getting worse.

“Some, but mostly in the eastern part. Your estate is in Viness, isn’t it?” Byungwoo nods. Viness is the westernmost town of the district. Minho’s attempts at containing the issue are clearly not working. “Your father didn’t report them?”

“My father wouldn’t notice a riot if it knocked on his door and you know it. The Countess on the other hand…” Minho grimaces. The Countess has certain expectations for things and she’s not shy about writing to his father when she has an issue. “Lucky for you, I convinced her to let me take care of it. That’s why I’m here and not at home.”

“I owe you one,” he sighs in relief. “I’ll send a patrol out as soon as I can. They didn’t do anything to your family or anything, right?”

“No,” Byungwoo hums, “they didn’t even try to. They didn’t even care when I went out to see what they were yelling about. Might’ve been because they didn’t know who I was but-”

“What were they yelling about?” Minho cuts in. There’s a long pause and Byungwoo shifts in the seat. “Byungwoo, why are they rioting?”

“You.”

“Me?”

“Well, your family.” A wave of pins runs through Minho’s body and his brain feels very far away all of a sudden. His hand finds the desk to steady him. “Minho?”

“What about my family?” His voice sounds small and muffled.

“I don’t know,” Byungwoo looks down apologetically, “I’m sorry. I couldn’t hear the specifics; just a lot of cursing against you all.” There’s a long stretch of silence between them and Minho can see Byungwoo’s mouth open to say something more, but he stops him before he can.

“You can leave now, thank you.” He falls heavily into the now vacated chair, mind still at a disconnect with his body. Byungwoo stands near the door, a frown slowly etching itself onto his features, making no move to open it. “I said you can leave.”

“I know you wanted to handle this on your own, but don’t you think you should at least tell the King? It does concern him, after all, and normally that’s the logical step to take…” he trails off, watching Minho carefully.

“I’m not going to tell him,” Minho is firm on his stance, “I understand why you think I should, but I can’t. It’s better to keep this as quiet as possible.”

“But-”

“Leave, Byungwoo!” He finally snaps. There’s a beat of quiet - it isn’t often Minho loses his temper - and then the door handle finally squeaks and the room is finally empty. The thing is, he knows that Byungwoo is right. But Minho’s in too deep now. He sees no good outcome to telling his father. After all, there isn’t anything the King can do, no matter how powerful he is, and no amount of power can make your people like you. All telling him will do is make him angry and disappointed - because it’s Minho’s job to fix things like this, so why hasn’t he? - and that’s something Minho wants to avoid at all costs. Though, honestly, he wouldn’t be able to blame his father for being angry.

But Minho isn't really sure how _he_ feels at this new revelation; it’s a mix of emotions. Confusion is the forerunner, but there’s too many for him to fully process. His family’s done nothing he can think of to warrant a reaction of this sort. It’s impossible to please everybody, but he thinks that they’ve done a pretty good job. There’ve been very few changes to the laws so long as Minho can remember and for the most part his father just keeps to the policies of his predecessor. Furthermore, the kingdom is at peace, as it has been for a long time, and the people are safe - his family has done their part to preserve this. And surely no one can doubt their loyalty to Hirin; each and every one of them, from the King to Jeongin, are nothing if not loyal. Minho can personally attest to the fact that his father and elder brother love their kingdom with every fiber of their beings. If he himself could go through the districts and convince everyone of this, sun and stars he would.

Minho’s inability to think of a political root of this spreading anger is frustrating and he’s half a mind to go through every policy and reform of the past two generations just to try and find something. He wants desperately for that to be the problem because the alternative is worse and truly can’t be fixed. Not by Minho, not by his father. And that’s what has unease swirling in the pit of his stomach: that the problem is with the family itself. Not their politics, just them as people. The thought itself leaves a bitter taste in his mouth. They’ve chosen this no more than a peasant chooses to be a peasant. Minho - as a prince - and Subin haven’t even _done_ anything other than attend events and give speeches. Jeongin hasn’t even been introduced to the public yet. What point is there to rioting against the royal family when more than half of them are little more than figurines whose only function is to smile and bow at the crowds? Minho wants this not to be the case, for there to be some law causing agitation. He doesn’t want to feel powerless in the face of things. He _can’t_ . The thought alone has a sick feeling clawing at his skin and the red pins on the map mock him. _You’ve already failed,_ they taunt, _and you can’t do anything about it_.

The thoughts are suffocating and he can’t stand to listen anymore. It’s no use thinking like that, Minho knows well enough. He can fix this if he just takes a moment to think and regroup, right? His chest tightens with doubt and fear again because _what if he can’t? what then? what will his father think?_ and Minho all but runs from his office, hoping to leave his anxieties behind. He rakes a hand through his hair and ignores the odd looks a few soldiers in the hall give him, not used to seeing him in such a state of distress. He’s always been good at keeping this side of him from, well, just about everyone. Soldiers are supposed to be stoic, brave and unwavering in the face of things. Minho most of all. Sometimes, very rarely, he can’t keep that front. Today is one of those times. Knowing that this is about his family… that changes things for him. Riots on their own are bad enough - destructive, disruptive, and dangerous to everyone around them - but that they’re directed at his own flesh and blood is more frightening. Minho needs to lock that away as soon as he can. He can't let his heart rule over his head, not more than it already does.

The smaller, side courtyard that Minho eventually makes his way to is vacant aside from two wide-eyed teenagers. They must be new, based on their awkward and uncomfortable postures and one of them smacks the other’s arm when Minho passes by. A clumsy salute and bow follow and Minho nods and salutes back, a tight smile on his face. He isn’t mad at them or anything like that, of course, but the pair seem more nervous than before and run past him to leave the courtyard as if he’s scolded them. All that remains in the courtyard are countless stands of rolled mats and bamboo, used to teach trainees proper sword technique and as practice for more experienced soldiers. Minho probably doesn’t come here as often as he should, but with everything going on he just can’t regularly make time for it. Right now, however, he needs this.

There’s a sense of comfort the moment Minho unsheathes his sword, the weight greeting him like an old friend. His blades are finely crafted, unique to any other sword in the army. Custom-made for him as an 18th birthday gift, they’re a final keepsake from Inseong. Really, they’re all Minho has left of him and he’s been sure to take care of them as one might an priceless family heirloom. Minho’s never had the chance to truly use them; he doubts he ever will, unless there’s a war. Like all other soldiers in these times, he’s never known true battle, the last war being over 100 Turns ago, even before Minho’s great-grandfather ruled. And though there are occasional border scuffles or issues during the Rounds, Minho’s never been a part of them. And maybe that’s wrong - he’s the highest ranked soldier in the army and has no real combat experience? It’s almost laughable - but it isn’t his fault. The Round Minho had been assigned to prior to his promotion had been peaceful aside from… _that_ incident… and he’s been stuck in the Capital for the past three Turns. Even if he hadn’t been promoted, he doubts his father would allow him to go on the Rounds anymore. It’d been hard enough to convince him to let Minho go the first time around.

His grip on the hilt tightens and Minho slices diagonally at the straw mat in front of him, a rush of satisfaction hitting him at the smooth cut. It really has been too long. He misses this; dare he say misses training. The long, grueling hours, the neverending repetition of a single move until Inseong had deemed it good enough… back then he’d hated it. Hated how heavy his arms became after every session and that he still had other skills to work on. Minho - and he’s sure every other general - understands every new batch of trainees’ grumbles entirely. But no one who joins the army should expect it to be easy and even though it’s exhausting and hard, they’re stronger for it. Just because the kingdom is at peace doesn’t mean they should be lazy or complacent. Things happen and it’s necessary to know how to fight and defend. Maybe it won’t save you, but it’ll give you a fighting chance.

 _Or at least it should_ , Minho thinks bitterly, sending another section of mat to the ground, and his heart constricts painfully, but the world isn’t fair and so life doesn’t work as he wants it to, or else he wouldn’t be in the position he’s in right now. His hands shake slightly. Sun and stars, he wishes he wasn’t.

 

 **_“Don’t worry, I’ll be fine.”_ ** _It rings through Minho’s head as all he can do is stare at the soldiers in front of him, heads bowed and faces solemn. He’s vaguely aware of some of the other generals somewhere behind him, a few shocked murmurs running among them, but he feels distant, eyes fixed on heavens know what. There’s a sudden weight on his shoulder as someone places a hand on it, as though attempting to ground him, but he hardly registers it._ **_I’ll be fine. I’ll be fine. I’ll be fine._ **

_“General Lee, I’m sor-”_

_“Can I see him?” Minho’s never sounded so hollow in his life, his voice hardly raised above a whisper. The soldiers exchange a look._

_“I’m not sure that’s a good idea, sir.”_

_“Please,” his voice wavers despite himself, “let me see him.” There’s a weighty pause before he receives a nod and is escorted to the infirmary. There’s a few other soldiers there, with injuries ranging from a gash on the head and a broken arm to much more severe stab wound, but Minho can only see one bed, covered in a white sheet._ **_Don’t worry, I’ll be fine._ **

_“Are you sure?” He’s given one final chance to say no and Minho almost wants to take it because once they lift the sheet there is no denying the reality of the situation, no place in his mind where he can find comfort and pretend that this is all an elaborate trick. So he closes his eyes and takes a breath, trying to steel his heart for the pain he knows is coming, and nods._ **_I’ll be fine._ **

_The sheet is removed and Minho has to suppress the immediate rise of bile in his throat, barely containing a choked sob. He knew it would hurt, but he didn’t know it would hurt this much. It feels as though it’s Minho who took the arrow to the heart and not Inseong. Minho wishes that were the case._

_“I’ll leave you,” the soldier who escorted him whispers, looking at his feet. “I must tell the King.” Minho nods mutely, his whole body trembling. Someone’s already taken the liberty to close Inseong’s eyes, as though he’s merely sleeping rather than dead and cold. Minho can almost ignore the broken arrow shaft and bloodstain and make as if it’s all okay. His vision blurs and tears slowly begin to fall. It hurts. Everything hurts. It isn’t just Minho’s heart that’s shattered; it’s his whole being. Like a building without its foundation, he can feel himself crumbling, falling apart, and finally collapsing._

_“You lied,” it’s little more than mouthed; Minho’s throat burns, “you said you’d be fine.” He sounds likes a petulant child, but Minho couldn’t care less right now. Not when Inseong is so far from fine. It shouldn’t be like this. Inseong didn’t deserve to die like this, on a Round that wasn’t even his duty to do. He only went because of Minho and…_

**_It’s my fault._ ** _The singular thought hits him so clearly it’s like the sun breaking through on a cloudy day. A momentary tang of iron fills his mouth and he realizes that he’s bit his lip so hard he’s drawn blood. Inseong is dead because of him. It was supposed to be Minho on the Round -_ **_should_ ** _have been him - but his father had said it was a bad idea and Inseong had agreed. A precaution, he’d called it, because Minho’s birthday is soon and he needs to be safe and sound. If Minho hadn’t been around, if he hadn’t been a prince, Inseong would never have gone on that Round. He’d be alive. Minho has never despised his title more._

_“It’s all because of me,” he sinks to his knees and bows, head buried in his arms. The floor is frigid, but that hardly matters now. How can anything matter when the most important person in Minho’s life is dead? A foot nudges him and Minho hurriedly runs his face across his arm, trying to stop his tears from falling. He glances up and finds his father, face dark and a wearing a heavy frown._

_“Get up,” his voice is cold, too cold. Minho catches the hard swallow he makes, despite his frighteningly even tone, and the far away look in his eyes. His father has known Inseong longer than Minho has been alive; he can’t be as indifferent to this as he’s acting. If he notices that Minho’s been crying - it’s doubtful he doesn’t - he mercifully says nothing._

_“He shouldn’t have gone,” Minho says lowly, doing his very best to pull himself back together in front of his father. The King’s gaze falls to the body in front of them and his eyes turn glassy._

_“He swore to protect you and he did.”_

_“I never asked him to. Nothing about this was his job.”_

_“It was his duty and he completed it.” Now his father’s voice is far too hard. Minho’s head snaps to the side and a spark of anger manages to flicker up within him._

_“This was not his purpose in life. Don’t make it sound like he can just be tossed to the side because he’s dead. No one’s duty should be to die for me.” He can feel the tears forming again and his voice shakes. The King’s eyes slowly drag up to meet Minho’s, more chilling than he’s ever seen them._

_“You’re about to be known as a prince. Within a few days, that will be countless people’s duties.” Minho’s fist clenches. Why is his father being like this?_

_“I never asked for that,” he breaks again, not even caring that his father can definitely see the tears now. “Never.”_

_“No one asks for anything in life. We all have our places and our parts to play. Inseong fulfilled his and you will fulfill yours. It isn’t up to you, Minho.”_

_“He wasn’t meant to die!” If they hadn’t attracted the attention of the other soldiers in the room before, they certainly have now. “Stop making it sound like he was.”_

_“Whether he was meant to or not is beside the point,” Minho hates how steady his father is speaking. There’s hardly even a waver of emotion in his voice. “He did. These sorts of things are up to fate.” The King pauses for a moment and some of the hardness in his face and eyes softens. “Minho, Inseong’s always sworn to protect you. He died doing that and maybe that isn’t a happy ending, but it’s one he’d be content with. Don’t belittle that because of your own feelings.” If that’s meant to make him feel better, it doesn’t. Minho’s heart drops at the statement. “All you can do is not allow his sacrifice to be in vain.”_

_Minho manages, though just barely, to stop his tears by the time he and his father leave the infirmary, greeted by the worried face of his mother and the unreadable expression on Subin’s face further down the hall. He brushes past his mother, even as she reaches out for him, knowing that he’ll only break the dam again if he goes to her. She lets him go._

_“How are you holding up?” He has no such luck with his brother and Minho freezes. It almost feels like a loaded question. How does Subin_ **_think_ ** _he's holding up? But his brother hasn't cared much in years, so Minho doubts he cares now, and he's not just going to break down in front of him. It'll be good practice for saving face in front of the entire Capital. He can't bring himself to fake a smile, too drained and hurt to even imagine it right now, and instead his jaw tenses. Subin shouldn't pretend to care._

 _“I’ll be fine.” It comes out with less conviction than he intends but it's hard to sound convinced when even as he says it, the only thing he can think is_ **_it should have been me._ **

 

Minho’s jaw aches from how hard he’s been clenching it as he puts all the anger and frustration he can muster into one final swing. There’s practically no resistance to the bamboo, the blade slicing through it like butter, and his eyes follow the severed piece as it slides to the ground. He flicks the sword ever so slightly - a habit of no use, but one most soldiers are taught nonetheless - and resheathes it, releasing a breath and feeling his jaw loosen. He does feel better than before, all in all. Aside from the painful memory he’s beginning to doubt he’ll ever escape, this has been relaxing. There’s something cathartic about slicing through who knows how many mats and shoots.

“All of you should count your lucky stars because General Lee has just about given you a masterclass in proper technique.” Minho turns his head abruptly at the sudden intrusion of a voice. General Seo and 30 some odd trainees are staring at him. “It’s not a sight many people get to see.” A beat of silence fills the courtyard and there’s a bit of shuffling from the trainees until General Seo clears her throat and they all seem to remember themselves at the same time and salute Minho. He returns the gesture, but sends them what he can only hope is an encouraging smile. It all seems very daunting at first and the first few months are certainly the hardest, at least morale-wise. “All right, I want this place spick and span in the next 5 minutes or it’ll be double push-ups tomorrow. Don’t stand there gawking; General Lee is a very busy man.”

“I could have cleaned,” Minho says, walking through the scurrying crowd toward General Seo, “I’m not too busy to do that.”

“You know how it is,” she shrugs, “trainees always clean. It’s good for them.” They share a laugh at that. Too many times in their training days did they hear that. “What were you doing out here anyway? You were going through those things like they really _were_ enemies.”

“I was just thinking through some things. It doesn’t really matter.” General Seo hums in acknowledgment, but doesn’t question further. Minho’s always appreciated that about her. His eyes fall back to the cleaning crew in front of them and he looks at every trainee’s face, trying to commit them to memory. They’re his responsibility now. Just as everyone in the base and on patrol is. It reaffirms the purpose he’s had for nearly three Turns. Inseong was the first reason, but the people under his command are all the others. Minho’s duty, among other things, is to protect _them_. To protect the people around him, whoever they may be, instead of having them protect him. He doesn’t want anyone to lose their life to save his, not again. Minho will do everything in his power to see that it doesn’t happen, even if that means dying. Like his father had said: “These sorts of things are up to fate.”


	17. XVII. Far From Home

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> boy meets world: nowhere edition

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> happy holidays!!! sorry for the long wait but this was more than twice the length of my usual chaps and took me a GRIP and a half to write but I hope you'll enjoy it!!

Felix’s mind is racing. He doesn’t know how long it’s been since Changbin set him down, or since Changbin and Chan stopped talking, but it feels like an eternity. They must think he’s asleep, for them to have spoken so openly in front of him, but though his eyes are closed, shrouding him in darkness as he lays frozen, aching on the sleep mat, sleep feels as far away as home. He’s overwhelmed by pain, fear, and confusion searing through him like nothing he’s ever felt before. He can barely breathe without tears building up behind his eyelids, slipping through his lashes and burning thin lines down his cheeks. 

The searing pain in his body feels dull though, when compared to the screaming in his brain. Changbin hadn’t been lying: the Barrier, the Other Side, they were real, really there - he’d seen it for himself, with his own two eyes. Changbin had told the truth about finding Felix and bringing him home to take care of him too; Felix can recall now, dredged out from where they’d been buried, a handful of memories: the hazy sound of Changbin’s voice, whispers cutting through the drone of thunder and rain, the feeling of arms lifting him up, tight and careful, of his face resting against something solid and thrumming with life (his chest, his neck?), the taste of something thick and syrupy and sickeningly sweet, and then the pain washing away from him as if it were being carried off by the storm. He wants nothing more than for the storm to return, to relieve him from his pain, to sweep him away as well. But there is no storm outside, so all he can do is lay still and let his thoughts consume him. 

He thinks of Changbin, of the impossible things he’d spoken about (mages, magic, war), of the things that had turned out against all odds to be true (Nowhere, the Barrier, his home, just out of reach). He wonders, then, about the move Changbin had made to shield him from Chan’s flash of anger, about the intense sincerity shining in Changbin’s eyes when he’d looked at him, the waver in his hands, and of the tone of his voice when he’d murmured for Felix to just breathe, just keep his eyes open a little longer. And  _ oh,  _ Felix has questions, so many questions. They fill him to the brim and overflow, running down his cheeks with his tears; they burn salty on his tongue, desperate to escape past his lips instead of scalding his eyes, but he can barely move, let alone speak, and he wouldn’t dare breathe a word Chan even if he could. So he’ll wait; he’ll try to sleep as Chan and Changbin believe he already is; he’ll try to silence his mind long enough to escape this conscious world and seek solace in a quieter one. 

Time stretches on endlessly, but he must finally drift off, although he is not aware of it, because the next thing he knows he’s shaking awake, heart hammering, crying out loud. It’s dark when his eyes open, but then there’s an orange glow spilling across the ceiling and his head is turning towards the sound of hushed voices and hurried footsteps making the floor tremble lightly under his hand, which he finds is thrown out, splayed open on the ground. He forgets, for a moment, where he is and why he hurts, and half expects Jisung’s face to come into focus, to hear the familiar lilt of his voice as he reminds Felix that it was just a nightmare, that he’s perfectly safe, that he’s at home. But then isn’t Jisung that emerges into the light, and Felix remembers all of a sudden exactly where he is, exactly why he aches, exactly how how far from home and exactly how alone he is, and his cries grow to sobs without warning. 

“Felix.” Changbin’s voice is fuzzy and far away, as if it were coming from underwater. “Felix,” he says again, “are you in pain?” He sounds clearer now, though his image still swims in front of Felix, distorted by tears.

“Of course he’s in pain,” Chan hisses lowly from somewhere in the dark behind Changbin.

“ _ Shhh,”  _ Changbin hisses back. The sound cuts right through Felix and another sob racks his body. “Is the draught done cooling?” Changbin’s voice is quiet again, but urgent. Felix doesn’t hear a response, but he feels faint tremors in the floor under his fingers again. “It’s going to be okay,” Changbin whispers softly, “you’re going to be okay.” 

Felix blinks tears out of his eyes, trying to see the room clearly, but it’s fruitless; everything continues to swirl black and gold before him. He drags the hand not pressed to the floor up to fist in the fabric of his shirt in a weak attempt to ground himself and distract his racing, aching heart, but it hardly seems to help. He struggles to catch a shaking breath as returning footsteps on the floor beat against his skin once more. 

“It’s done,” Chan says, pauses, “do you think it will help?”

“Only one way to find out.” Changbin’s voice is clear now, closer than before. Felix blinks again, hard this time, and for a moment Changbin appears clearly in front of him. He sees worry in his shining eyes and a small vial of something faintly purple, which seems to glow in the half-light, clasped tight in his grasp. Then the burn of tears turns his vision hazy again, but Changbin’s voice remains clear when he speaks. “Felix, I don’t know if you remember anything from last night, but I made more of the medicine I gave you then. It should help with the pain.”

“I remember,” Felix chokes out, pressing one hand harder against his chest, as if it will ease the quaking from his ragged breaths and strangled cries, and lifting the other toward Changbin, reaching blindly for the vial. He finds Changbin’s wrist instead, but it’s close enough.

“Here,” Changbin says quietly, pressing the vial gently into Felix’s open palm, closing his fingers around it, and carefully guiding it down to Felix’s lips. Felix stays silent - not that he could speak now if he wanted to - and lets Changbin help tip the medicine into his mouth, ignoring the overwhelming wash of sweetness that comes with it, turning his stomach. The medicine is the only thing that might help, so he focuses on the memory of his pain ebbing away while he forces it down. Then all he can do is wait. 

Changbin slips the vial back out of his hand and draws away, and Felix shivers involuntarily. He must have sweat while he slept, because his skin feels cold now, and chills sweep down his back where it’s shifted away from the sleep mat. There’s a long moment in which everything continues to pound down on him: the ache blooming from deep within his bones, the suppressed gag from the taste of medicine still on his tongue, the chill of the air against his damp, prickling skin, the weight of wishing for home hanging from his heart; then a faint warmth starts to flicker at the base of his throat. Felix gasps, panicked for a moment as the gentle heat slowly starts to spread. He realizes though, when it washes over his chest and begins to creep down his arms and legs, that his pain is fading, gradually ebbing away as the medicine takes effect. The tears welling in his eyes begin to subside, leaving his cheeks pink and raw, and he lets out a shuddering breath. 

The room comes into focus in front of him, and again he sees Changbin watching him carefully, but this time he can also see Chan lingering a few paces behind him like he doesn’t want to get too close. There’s a look of mistrust on his face that Felix knows is likely mirrored on his own.

“Better?” Changbin asks hesitantly. Felix’s eyes snap back to him. He nods, cautious, still afraid that moving will send sharp pangs of pain running through him. He feels as fragile as porcelain, like one wrong or rushed movement could shatter him and flood him with agony once more. Changbin frowns like he doesn’t quite believe Felix, and Felix can’t blame him; he doesn’t quite believe himself either. “Are you sure?” 

“Yeah.” Felix’s voice is low and hoarse and quavers as he tries to push himself up. His head rushes when he finally sits all the way up and it makes him so dizzy he has to put all his weight on his hands against the floor to keep himself from tipping over. Changbin watches, eyes blown wide with concern, and the look makes Felix’s head swim even more than it already is, so he stares at his hands instead of meeting Changbin’s gaze. There’s only so much he can deal with, and he’s already way over his limit. “How long will this last?” He asks weakly.

“The medicine or the pain?”

“Both,” he answers, though he’s not entirely sure that’s what his question had been about.

Changbin sighs and it’s heavy enough that Felix can’t help but glance up at him. He looks dejected and a little bit guilty, though Felix can’t quite figure out why. “The medicine might last until some time after sunup tomorrow, but I’m not sure. It’s technically a healing draught, but I don’t know how it’ll work on injuries inflicted by magic. If it doesn’t actually help you we can try straight blueburn instead.” Felix nods even though half of Changbin’s answer has gone right over his head. “As for the pain, I don’t know at all. I think we’ll just have to wait and see. I’m sorry.” He sounds almost despondent. 

“Right ray of sunshine,” Chan mutters behind him, and Felix jolts a bit. He had forgotten Chan was there. 

Changbin shoots Chan a look and when he turns back Felix almost thinks his cheeks are flushed, but the light is behind him so it could be a trick of the shadows. Felix tries not to think about it, and focuses instead on something else.

“Did you say blueburns?” 

“Yeah,” Changbin affirms, “they’re medicinal flowers.”

“We have them back home too,” Felix says, wondering how many times he’d laid down by the smattering of blueburns in his haven and thought nothing more of them than their delicate beauty.

“On the Other Side?” Chan asks, stepping closer. 

Felix and Changbin nod at the same time, and Felix furrows his brows. “How-”

“I’ve seen them,” Changbin answers sheepishly when Felix trails off before finishing the question. “They grow close to the Barrier.”

“Do they heal on the Other Side too?” Felix asks, hopeful and genuinely curious.

Changbin looks slightly overwhelmed by the question, and doesn’t say anything for a moment. “I have no way of knowing, but I doubt it,” he says finally, and Felix deflates a little. “It’s the magic here infused in them that gives them their potency. They might do you a little good brewed into tea, but I'm sure there are other, better options out there. It wouldn’t taste very good anyway.”

Felix doesn’t know what to say to that, and it seems Chan doesn’t either, and the room falls into an awkward, stilted silence. Almost unconsciously, Felix looks to the ground again, and curls in on himself. It hits him sharply once again, in the stifling air of the room, how far from home he is. An ache returns to his chest despite the medicine running through him, and he suddenly wants to get as far away as he can from Chan and Changbin almost as badly as he desperately wants not to be alone. 

Then Changbin breaks the silence. “Do you want to try to sleep again? We can leave.”

Felix doesn’t lift his head to meet Changbin’s eyes. He doesn’t know what he wants, so he says nothing. Changbin waits until it becomes clear that there will be no answer, then moves to stand. Felix sees him rise out of the corner of his eyes, and resists the urge to follow the motion.

“Let’s go, Chan.” Felix listens to their footsteps get farther away, then: “Try to sleep if you can, Felix,” Changbin says softly, earnest. “Rest will help, and the sooner you heal, the sooner you can go back home.” 

_ Home _ . Felix nods a little even though Changbin is already gone.  _ Home _ . The thought lulls him to sleep surprisingly quickly. 

 

Felix wakes to the gray haze of almost morning and sits up slowly. He's aware of the faint burn of all his muscles when he moves, but the deep ache from the day before hasn't set in with full force again yet, so for the moment he can bear it. A small sigh of relief tugs out of him. He feels strangely calm as his eyes search the room around him, sweeping over the table and chair (now righted from where it had landed after he'd thrown it at Changbin), the shuttered window he'd tried to escape through (the idea seems almost funny now - the window really isn't that big), two closed doors (one on his right and one a ways off to his left), a tall, dark dresser hiding in the corner, and not much else. Does Changbin not have  _ stuff _ ? 

Felix stands shakily and picks his way across the empty floor towards the door nearest to him. He pauses in front of it, briefly hesitant, before putting light fingers on the knob and carefully turning it. The door falls open with an easy push, and Felix strains to see what's inside the small room he's just uncovered. For a moment all he can make out are the silhouettes of what appear to be a bookshelf and another table, smaller than the one in the last room. He waits for his eyes to adjust, and soon the shadows take form in front of him: the bookshelf is made of dark wood and is practically overflowing, the table is light and splotchy, scattered with glassware both empty and full of variously colored substances (liquids? powders? It’s too dark to tell), and there's a blanket draped over a mat on the floor and a small stool next to the table with a lamp balanced on it that he hadn't seen before. 

Felix steps fully into the room and gravitates towards the bookshelf. There are more books here than he’s seen in ages, and he can’t quite believe it; not even Woojin’s collection is this big. The books aren’t the only things meticulously placed on the dark shelves though. As he nears the shelves he notices there’s also a small stack of thin parcels, some kind of wooden press, and a row of what appear to be bound notebooks. A surge of curiosity hits Felix and his hands itch to snatch one up, break it open and uncover the secrets buried in its pages. He fights the urge and instead reaches for one of the books, brushes his fingers down the spine and tilts his head to read the title:  _ The Great War and the Road to Nowhere _ . Beside it sits  _ A Comprehensive Guide to Flora and Fauna of Nowhere _ . He supposes that really is what this place is called (another thing Changbin had told the truth about), and then wonders if there’s anything here to read for fun too. He glances at some of the other books at eye level, and one of the titles jumps out at him. It still seems to be an informative text, but it’s about the ocean, and Felix has never seen a body of water larger than the expansive lakes in District Eight before, so he slides it off the shelf, curious. 

Almost without realizing it, he sinks to the floor with the book in his hands. The first page is covered edge to edge with a painting of the ocean, and Felix falls right into the churning blue waves and splashes of white foam. It’s just a single page, but the way the water touches the tips of it and doesn’t end gives the impression that it could go on forever, and Felix thinks that the sea must enormous, endless even. It’s comforting to think that some things in the world might be truly limitless. He turns the page, and then the next and the next, soaking in every word about the ocean, every picture that appears before him. He’s not sure how much time passes; he’s immersed in the book and doesn’t notice the change in the light spilling into the room as it grows brighter (it’s enough for him to read by and that’s as much as he cares about), but it feels like he’s been sitting staring at the sprawling blue brushstrokes and pristinely printed black text for ages when the sound of the door creaking right beside him startles his eyes away from the pages. 

When he looks up he sees Changbin standing just outside the room, a light hand on the door, looking down at him. Felix jumps to his feet, book still clutched in his hands, slightly panicked. His head rushes as he stands, his vision goes dark for a moment and he has to put a hand out against the wall to balance himself. When the black spots fade out of his eyes and he can see again he expects to find anger on Changbin’s face, but there is none. He draws his hand back to his side and watches Changbin watch him curiously. They’re silent for a beat, and Changbin’s eyes drop to the book pressed against his chest.

“You like the ocean?” Changbin asks finally, eyes still full of curiosity, not a trace of irritation in his voice. 

Felix nods.

“Have you ever been?”

“No,” Felix says softly, “the coast is too far away.” He pauses. “You?”

Changbin shakes his head. “The closest thing we have here is a lake.”

“Oh.” Felix casts his eyes down. He can’t imagine living his whole life in a bubble like this. Maybe he’s only left District Nine a handful of times, but at least it’s always been possible, an option. The idea of being trapped in Nowhere makes him feel slightly sick. He looks back up at Changbin. “Is it hard?”

Changbin’s brows furrow. “Is what hard?”

“Not ever being able to leave?”

Changbin shrugs, then sighs. It’s a heavy thing, and Felix can’t help but think that there’s some kind of story attached to it. “Sometimes, yeah.” He falls silent and Felix wonders if that’s all he’ll say on the matter, but then he takes a breath and starts again. “I don’t know if it is for everyone, but yeah. When I was younger I used to sit out right by the Barrier for ages just to see what there was beyond it. Sometimes when I saw people - military patrols, mostly - I’d imagine their journey in my head: where did they come from, what had they seen so far, what was still waiting ahead of them? Chan told me once he thought I spent more time on the Other Side than I did here in Nowhere.”

Felix feels suddenly like he’s intruding. He hadn’t been expecting such an open and honest answer, and he doesn’t quite know what to do with himself. He unfurls his arms from around the book and holds it out to Changbin because he can’t think of any other way to cut through the heaviness that now hangs in the air. “Sorry I took this.”

Something flickers across Changbin’s face, but if he knows Felix is trying to change the subject, he doesn’t comment on it. He takes the book gingerly out of Felix’s hands. “Don’t worry about it. You’re welcome to read any of the books here.” His looks over to the empty spot on the shelf where the book about the ocean belongs, and his eyes flit briefly to the row of bound notebooks below it. He seems relieved to find them untouched. He looks at Felix again. “Are you done with it?”

“Yeah.”

“Okay.” Changbin takes a few steps forward and slides the book back into place, then he turns back to Felix. “Are you hungry?” 

Felix immediately becomes aware of how empty his stomach feels. He nods quickly. When was the last time he’d eaten? 

“Come on,” Changbin says, moving out of the small room and motioning for Felix to follow him. “I left Chan in charge of breakfast, hopefully it’s still fine. I think we’d be able to smell if it was burning though.”

Felix walks a few paces behind Changbin, following him out into the room he’d woken up in and through it to what appears to be the kitchen. There he sees Chan standing over a polished black wood stove, staring blankly at a pan resting on it. 

Chan’s head lifts up when they approach, and he looks at Changbin with a sense of relief. “Are these ready to flip?” When Changbin steps closer to examine what’s inside the pan, Chan glances at Felix with the same thinly veiled mistrust he’d had the day before. He looks like he’s about to say something when Changbin takes the handle of the pan and shakes it a little.

“Yeah, looks good.” Changbin says, and he lifts the pan off the stovetop, shakes it again, harder this time, and then in one swift motion flicks his wrist and flips the contents of the pan. 

Felix watches in slight awe as two flat brown disks jump up and tip dangerously in the air before falling smoothly flat back down. Changbin shakes the pan one more time and then sets it back on the wood stove. Felix almost steps forward to peer down into and see what the disks are, but then he feels Chan’s wary eyes on him again and stays exactly where he is. He looks instead to the counter off to the side of the stove and sees a mixing bowl with wooden spoon resting on it, a small glob of light batter dangerously close to dripping off onto the counter. Again, he’s not entirely sure what to do with himself, so he stands there awkwardly until Changbin tips whatever he's just made out onto a plate and nudges Chan over to where Felix is waiting. 

“You two head on over to the table and start, I'm gonna put on more.”

Felix shoots Changbin an alarmed look, but he's already turning to lift up the mixing bowl and pour more batter out onto the pan. Felix glances, defeated, at Chan, who has already scrounged up three forks and brushed past him to place everything on the table. He looks at Felix expectantly, so Felix follows weakly after him. 

“I'll go get another chair,” Chan says, and then disappears around the corner again.

Felix lets out a breath he'd only been vaguely aware of holding and glances cautiously at the plate in the center of the table. Up close he can tell that the disks look quite a lot like plain old pancakes, and the sight starts up a funny feeling in his stomach, right beside his hunger - he hasn't seen a pancake since his mother left for the capital to work, and that had been Turns ago. He doesn't know what to make of them showing up now, in Nowhere, but Chan comes back quickly with another chair - slightly smaller than the others - and rouses him out of his thoughts. 

“Do you . . . want honey or something on yours?” He looks a lot more sheepish than he had before he left, and Felix wonders what possibly could have happened in the few moments between him walking off and reappearing. 

“Uh, sure. Thanks.”

Chan gives him a small nod and retreats into the kitchen again. Felix thinks maybe he just wants to avoid being alone with him, but it’s a shared sentiment, so he doesn’t mind too much. When Chan comes back, he has a small jar in one hand and a second plate in the other. He sets them both down in front of Felix and uses a fork to lift one of the pancakes onto Felix’s plate. 

“Thanks,” Felix says quietly again, lifting his hands from his lap. As Chan moves away from him to take his seat (the farthest one, Felix notices) he picks up his fork gingerly and starts to section the pancake off into small bites. He can feel Chan looking everywhere in the room but at him, and keeps his eyes glued on his plate. Just when the silence starts to feel suffocating and Felix wonders if he’ll even be able to swallow his breakfast, Changbin appears from around the corner.

“Thirsty?” He eyes the two of them carefully, and they glance at each other without meaning to and nod. Changbin heads back into the kitchen and Felix hears shuffling and clinking and then Changbin is at the table, setting down a blue pitcher and two cups. “I’ll be done with breakfast in a little bit. Come get more if you’re still hungry, there’s plenty.” He gives Felix an encouraging look and then vanishes into the kitchen again, leaving him alone with Chan once more. 

Briefly, Felix considers abandoning breakfast and trying to flee to escape the tension-thick air, but then his stomach twinges with hunger and he can’t deny the food that’s right there in front of him. He wants to scarf down every bite, but he forces himself to eat slowly, increasingly aware of Chan’s eyes, which have finally landed on him. Halfway through his pancake, he remembers the honey, and his eyes widen a bit. He reaches for the jar and drizzles the honey lightly over the remainder of his breakfast, then finally chances a glance up at Chan.

“Thanks again,” he says quietly.

“It’s no trouble.” Chan holds his gaze, but it looks like it’s taking all his willpower to do so. They stare at each other for a long moment, evaluating each other. Felix looks away first, shrinking a bit under the calculating look in Chan’s eyes, and takes another bite so he doesn’t feel like he has to say anything else. 

“So what’s the story?” Chan asks suddenly.

“What?”

“How’d you get here? Changbin’s being tight-lipped about the whole thing.”

“Oh.” Felix freezes. There are few things he wants less than to relive his encounter with the colonel and his troops, or his painful race through the woods. He keeps his eyes glued on his plate.

“Changbin said he thought something bad happened out there.” Chan’s tone has softened considerably, and Felix looks up, surprised. Almost all the suspicion has drained from Chan’s face and he looks genuinely curious, even a little bit sorry.

“Yeah,” Felix says, deflating, “he’s right. I’m not sure really how much I told him, or how much he figured out on his own, but I had a run in with a group from the military. It wasn’t friendly.” He pauses. “I’m pretty sure I barely made it out alive.”

“Oh.” Chan is quiet for a moment. “I . . . sorry. I didn’t think it would be that bad.”

“Yeah.” Felix eats another bite of his breakfast and tries not to remember the night too vividly. When he clears his plate, Chan is still watching him, but it no longer appears to be through a veil of doubt. “I’m gonna go get some more.” Felix’s voice sounds subdued even to him, so he tries to bury the memory of the colonel’s boots bruising his ribs, and heads to the kitchen like he hasn’t just re-lived the memory of a near death experience. When he rounds the kitchen to get another helping from Changbin though, he sees him turned away from the stove, waiting. Felix can guess from the sheen in his eyes that he’d overheard - it’s not surprising considering how close together the rooms with no full walls separating them are - and when Changbin opens his mouth to say something, Felix tenses, fearing more questions about the night in the woods that he’s not ready to answer yet. None come, though. Changbin fixes him with an inscrutable look, but doesn't push the subject. “Want seconds?”

Felix nods, grateful, but not entirely for the food.

 

When he returns to the table, Chan is finishing off the food on his own plate, and he stands as Felix sits, leaving for the kitchen himself. Felix hears him speaking to Changbin in a hushed voice and tries to focus on his meal instead of their voices, but his appetite has quickly turned sour, and the food doesn't look nearly as appealing now as it had earlier. He hasn't eaten in days though, and refuses to waste anything he's been given, so he forces the rest of it down. He's standing to leave when Chan and Changbin finally come back into the room with their own helpings.

“Are you done?” Changbin asks, looking at the empty plate Felix is holding hesitantly in his hands. 

Felix nods.

“Okay. Just leave everything on the counter by the mixing bowl, I'll clean them when I'm done.”

“Are you sure?”

“Yeah,” Changbin says, “I always do the dishes. One more set is nothing.”

“Thanks. And thanks for the food.” Felix wonders why his voice sounds so small.

“Of course.” Changbin gives him another unreadable look, and Felix excuses himself quickly. 

Once he’s made it to the safety of the kitchen, he moves to set his plate down and realizes his hands are shaking. The fork dances lightly atop the plate as it trembles in his hold, and he slides it onto the counter like it's on fire. 

_ It's fine _ , he thinks, _ I'm fine.  _ But the shaking isn't easing away, and the colonel's dangerous face is swimming closer and closer to the front of his mind. He's getting flashes now of it now: the ring glinting in the torchlight, thick black and red dripping down, clouding over his vision, bursting gold sparks behind his eyes, stinging branches whipping against his chest and arms. Next thing he knows, he's leaning forward against the counter, gripping the edges so tight his knuckles are stark white against his sun-tanned skin, and he has to force himself to drag in long, deep breaths to keep himself steady. 

_ It's okay, it's okay, _ he tries to tell himself,  _ I'm nowhere they can find me again. Nowhere.  _ The words do little to help, but Changbin and Chan’s voices seem to be growing louder, or at least coming more into focus, and he can hear footsteps approaching, so he pushes himself away from the counter and tries to hide the panic in his eyes. Changbin rounds the corner and Felix considers it a small miracle that Chan isn't with him. 

“Hey,” Changbin says, slowing to a stop and taking in the sight in front of him. “Felix, are you okay?”

“Yeah.” Felix hopes his voice doesn't waver. “Just . . . is it all right if I just go and read again for a little bit?”

“Of course,” Changbin says, a hint of worry beginning to spread across his face. He hesitates a moment, then: “Let me know if the pain starts to come back.”

“Thanks,” Felix says softly, “I will.” He walks as steadily as he can back to the small room he’d left behind for breakfast, ignoring the eyes on his back, and half closes the door behind him. He pulls a book off the shelf, not caring what it's about, sinks to the ground on the mat nestled in the corner, tucks his knees up to his chest, and rests his head against the wall, staring at the first page of the open book without really seeing it. He sits there, alone and shaking and trying desperately not to think about anything until his eyes glaze over and he slips into an uneasy sleep.

 

When Felix jolts awake some time later, he’s gasping for air and reaching out blindly for something to grab hold of to assure himself that he’s safe on solid ground because the overwhelming feeling of falling is still clinging to him from his nightmare. His hand closes around the nearest solid object - a leg of the small desk in front of him - and he takes a shuddering breath. As he exhales, he becomes all too aware of the pain now pressing down on him again, burning hot and stinging cold all at once. It’s not yet as bad as it had been the night before, but he can feel the ache growing stronger, sharper with each breath he takes.  _ Fuck _ . 

“Changbin?” His voice is quiet and barely cuts through the air, but he hopes it’s enough, because he’s not sure he can muster up enough energy to call out again.

“Felix?” Changbin says questioningly, coming into view around the door, and a small wave of relief crashes over Felix, though it quickly recedes under the strength of the ache still spreading across his skin and cutting down to his bones.

“Remember when you said to tell you if the pain came back?” He grimaces. “It did.”

Changbin’s face falls and he turns serious in an instant. “I made more of the draught while you were sleeping. I’ll go get it.”

Felix watches Changbin disappear behind the door again, hears his footsteps fade out, and turns his eyes to the wall in front of him, then the book still resting in his lap, desperate for something to distract him. He registers the words  _ certain small animals _ and  _ travel freely through  _ before everything goes white with a new flash of pain and he can no longer see the page. 

When the room comes back into focus around him, Changbin is by his side, holding a small vial with familiar lilac liquid in it, his eyes flooded with worry. Felix downs the medicine quickly and closes his eyes, waiting for it to kick in. In the darkness behind his lids though, he discovers it’s harder to dispel the lingering memories of his dream, and they creep towards him, menacing: the ground slipping under his feet, the suffocating, crushing blackness that seemed to have no end, the long fall. His eyes snap open, and he hopes to burn out the images with the bright light spilling in through the door behind Changbin. 

After a long,  _ long  _ moment, the warm feeling from last night finally begins to spread down Felix's body from the base of his neck, and a sigh of relief slips from him at the recession of his pain along with it. He still can't close his eyes more than a blink, as each flash of darkness sends him - even if only for the briefest of moments - spinning back into the dizzy memory of his nightmare, but he doesn't think there's a draught for afflictions of the mind like there is for the body, so this might be as good as it’s going to get. So to Changbin, who’s watching him with bated breath, and can't possibly know about the fear still racing through his head, he offers a quiet thanks.

Another delicate, awkward moment of silence hangs between them, and then Changbin says, “I can teach you how to brew the draught if you want.”

Felix’s eyes widen a bit, and he hardly considers the offer before nodding. “Now?”

“Sure,” Changbin shrugs, “Chan’s out right now so it’s a good time if you’re up for it. I don’t want to push you if you’re still hurting though.”

Felix shakes his head. The ache continues to fade as each beat of his heart spreads the medicine further through him, and he is desperate for a distraction from the ghosts lodged in his head. “Now is good.”

“Okay.” Changbin stands and moves for the door, and Felix follows him. He’s only been here a day or two, but this scene already feels familiar to him. He tries not to think about that too much. “Usually I would have to get all the ingredients together, but everything is all still out from earlier, so we don’t have to worry about that. I can show you where everything comes from later though, if you want.”

“Sure,” Felix says, eyeing the spread that has replaced breakfast on the table. He recognizes most of it, actually: the glassware and various powders (and are those leaves? petals?) from the splotchy table in the small room they’ve just come out of. There are also a few thin stirrers and a set of snaprocks. Felix turns to Changbin curiously. “So, what’s first?” 

  
  


Felix sinks down into one of the chairs at the table once he’s finally finished following Changbin’s guide and his draught is cooling in a small vial, slowly losing its vibrant purple and fading to a light violet. He feels like he should say something now that Changbin is no longer keeping the room free from awkward silence with his consistent instructions, but he can’t think of anything. Spending time with Changbin is still weird for him, and he can’t tell if he likes Changbin’s company or not. It’s certainly better than Chan’s, but Felix always preferred to simply be alone, (or is that just what he’s used to?) and he’s still a little uncomfortable around Changbin, no matter how hard he tries to help Felix feel at ease in this new place. His discomfort is quite prominent now in the silence of the room.

“Where did Chan go?” He asks when he can’t stand it anymore.

Changbin glances up from where he’s gathering everything on the table together so he can move it back to where it belongs. “He just went out to see some people.”

“Does he do that a lot?” Felix hopes Changbin doesn’t notice how eager his voice sounds.

“Yeah, it’s kind of a part of his job.” Changbin doesn’t elaborate past that, so Felix doesn’t push it.

“Do you?” He asks instead.

Changbin frowns down at the table, suddenly very intent on getting back to work, not meeting Felix’s eyes. “No. I don’t really go out.”

“Oh, okay.” Felix says, a little surprised by Changbin’s reaction. There must be some sort of story there, but it’s clearly not one he can ask about, so he falls silent again as Changbin picks up what he’s gathered together and heads off to put it away. Changbin returns quickly, only to excuse himself again, saying he’s going to start prepping for dinner and disappearing into the kitchen. Felix stays where he is a moment longer, wondering what nerve he had unintentionally hit to drive Changbin away like that, before he abandons the table too. He finds the book about oceans right where it had been the first time, pulls it off the shelf, and brings it with him back to a spot under the window where the light is best. There, he curls up and immerses himself in the blue pages once more, driving all thoughts of nightmares to the very back of his mind for a little while longer. 

  
  


The sun is low in the sky when Chan finally comes back. Felix looks up from his book when he hears the door creak open and the first thing he notices is how utterly exhausted Chan looks, then how hesitant he appears, standing unmoving in front of the door like he isn’t sure what to do with himself or whether he should even come in at all. 

“Chan?” Changbin’s voice comes from the kitchen, and Chan seems to remember himself and walks wearily out of Felix’s line of sight. Felix hears him mutter something to Changbin, who responds lowly, and turns his attention back to the last few pages of the book in his lap. 

By the time he’s done and is standing to return the book to its rightful place, the sun has set completely, and Chan and Changbin still haven’t emerged from the kitchen, though Felix can’t hear them talking anymore. He considers wandering over to check in and make sure everything is all right, but it’s not exactly his place - he’s just a temporary guest (is that even the right word for it?) so he stays right where he is, lighting a lamp and occupying himself with a new book until Changbin finally calls him over.

He helps them set dinner out on the table and then they eat in near complete silence because Chan looks like he’s ready collapse into his food at any moment and Changbin keeps shooting concerned glances his way, and Felix doesn’t want to call any attention to himself. He finishes first and then makes himself scarce again by hiding away with his new book - it’s the one about the history of Nowhere he’d seen before, and it says much of the same things Changbin had said about the war and the plight of the mages, but it goes into greater depth, and sounds so extraordinary and terrible that he’s as horrified as he is intrigued - and while he reads he is completely unaware of the passage of time. 

When he finally does emerge for a cup of water, he finds the rooms dark, and Changbin and Chan curled up on their sleep mats. Felix eyes them for a moment, then eyes the door that leads outside. He’s fairly sure he’s not supposed to go out lest he be caught wandering by anyone (if Chan’s reaction to seeing him - an Outsider - is anything to go off, that is) but they’d never actually talked about it, and he wants to feel fresh air on his skin again, so he forgets about the water and heads quietly towards the door instead. He opens it slowly, closes it behind him, and slips out into the night.

A sigh pushes past his lips at the cushion of cool grass under his feet and the gentle brush of breeze through his hair, and he walks a few paces out, then sits down. He has no intention of running off when he can still feel the whisper of pain creeping slowly back up on him, and he doesn’t want to wander off into the dark and get lost, but he does want this: a moment or two of peace and quiet, something to remind him of home. 

He sinks down to the ground and leans back on his hands, revelling in how the grass tickles his fingers and the familiar, grainy feel of the dirt against his palm. Farming the family plots all day was never the pastime of his dreams, but planting and tending to the crops had become second nature to him, a part of who he was, and he can almost pretend he’s back home now, working late the fields and laying down for a break under the stars before returning his tools to the shed and heading back home for a cold dinner with Jisung, who waits for him because Felix always returns the favor. Almost, because this ground isn’t soft like the tilled earth back home, and when he tilts his head back, there are no stars in the sky.

“Felix?”

Felix jumps and whips his head around, away from the inky black sky and towards the source of the noise. He finds Changbin standing a short ways away, bathed in shadows and the slightest bit of light from the lamp Felix had left just outside the door. “Oh,” he says, surprised, trying to think of something a bit more eloquent to explain himself. After a beat, he gives up. “I thought you were sleeping.”

“I wasn’t really,” Changbin shrugs. “What are you doing out here?”

“I was . . .”  he sighs, “I was just feeling a little cooped up. I thought coming out here would remind me of home.” Then, more hesitantly, “Do we need to go back in?”

“No, this is fine.” Changbin steps closer and sits down as well. “No one comes out this way very often, especially at night. Besides, it’s dark, and we could get inside quickly enough if anyone did happen to show up.” He pauses. “And I think it would be kind of shitty to make you give up something that reminds you of home as long as you’re stuck in here.”

Felix half smiles at that, and turns his eyes back to the sky. “It only sort of reminds me of home, I guess. There aren’t any stars here.”

“Stars?” Changbin echoes softly, looking up too. 

“Yeah. Why can’t I see them?”

“The Barrier,” Changbin says, and his voice sounds a little sad, “it blocks them out.”

“Really?”

“Really. I’ve only ever seen them in books.”

“I’m sorry,” Felix says, before he can think better of it. As soon as the words leave his lips, he worries they’ll upset Changbin, but Changbin just hums and shrugs it off. 

“They do seem beautiful.”

“They are,” Felix all but whispers.

“I hope you get home to them and everything else soon.” 

“I hope so too.” Felix’s voice is so low he can barely hear it, and they quickly slip into a strangely comfortable silence. Felix eases himself back until he’s lying down flat on the ground, and he feels Changbin follow suit. 

Felix stares at the blank sky until his head starts to spin from the sight, and then turns to the side, expecting to see Changbin’s silhouette outlined by the lamp a few steps away, and instead finding a small, fluffy brown face a hair’s breadth from his nose. He lets out a small sound of surprise and the bunny jumps away from him, its black eyes shining and its nose twitching. Felix takes a breath to recover from the shock, then looks curiously at the bunny. He hadn’t heard it approach at all, and he would’ve expected it to flee after being startled, but it hasn’t moved any farther than that first jump.

“What was that?” Changbin’s voice comes from just behind the bunny, and it hops away from him and towards Felix once again. Felix can’t think of anything better to do, so he reaches out a slow, hesitant hand towards it. The bunny assesses him and his outstretched hand for a heartbeat, before slowly moving closer. 

“It’s a bunny,” Felix murmurs, expecting it to take off at the sound of his voice, but though it tenses, it doesn’t bound away. “They’re not magic or dangerous in here, right?”

“No, they’re perfectly safe,” Changbin answers quietly, and the bunny hops right under Felix’s hand. 

Felix looks at it in slight awe, stroking its soft fur hesitantly and wondering why it hasn’t been scared away. He doesn’t say anything for a while, just gently pets the bunny and lets his mind wander. When it becomes clear that his mind will wander too far into the darkness of his memories if given the chance, though, he tries to refocus himself on the present. “Is Chan . . . okay?” He asks partly because he is genuinely curious and partly because he can’t think of anything else to say. “Did something happen while he was out?”

“It’s complicated,” Changbin sighs heavily. “I’m not really sure I can explain it, or if it’s even my place to talk about it. I guess you could just say there’s been some trouble in work life and it’s hitting him pretty hard.”

“Oh.” Felix feels like he’s unintentionally crossed another invisible line. “I’m sorry.”

“Don’t be. Hopefully it’ll all be fine soon enough.”

They fall into a stilted silence after that, bearable for Felix only because the bunny has settled down on the ground beside him and curled happily into his hand. He can feel its small body rising and falling rapidly against his palm as it breathes, and it’s fur is soft and warm in contrast to the cool grass, and he almost finds himself smiling despite the slightly awkward air, but then Changbin speaks again and his face falls in an instant.

“It’s late, do you want to head back in and try to sleep?”

“Not really,” Felix answers, trying to keep his voice even and inconspicuous, “but if you need to go to bed I can go in and just go back to reading.” 

“Not tired?”

“No,” Felix tries to lie, but his body betrays him, and he yawns loudly before he can stifle it or muffle the sound. 

Changbin is quiet for a moment, and Felix briefly dares to hope that maybe he’s hard of hearing and missed the yawn. “Are you sure? You sound tired to me.”

_ Damn.  _ “I just don’t want to go to sleep yet.”

Changbin doesn’t ask why, but the question hangs in the air anyway. Eventually, Felix can’t stand it anymore. “There’s just so much to read, right? Why sleep when there’s a whole wall of books to pick from?” He doesn’t even believe his own excuse.

“Felix,” Changbin says softly, and his voice is so gentle Felix can practically feel his walls crumbling down, “have you been having nightmares?”

“I . . .” Felix tries desperately to come up with some other answer, but he just can’t seem to do it. “Yeah,” he whispers, “I have.”

“Oh, Felix, I’m so sorry,” Changbin murmurs, and the sincerity in his voice leaves a strange feeling in Felix’s chest. “Do you want to talk about it?”

Felix swallows. “I don’t know,” he says, so quiet again that he can barely hear himself.

“You don’t have to,” Changbin assures him quickly. “Sometimes it just hurts to bring it up, I know.”

“You know?” Felix echoes, tilting his head towards Changbin, his fingers stilling in the bunny’s fur. “Do you have nightmares?”

“Not so much anymore, but I used to have them almost every night.” Changbin’s voice is carefully even, and Felix thinks that alone betrays just how much it’s taking for him to answer.

“Sun and stars,” he breathes, “how . . . how did you manage?”

Changbin sighs, another deep, heavy thing that Felix can almost feel the weight of. “Chan, mostly.”

“So you two are really close then,” Felix says, then realizes how silly that sounds.  _ Of course they’re close; they  _ live  _ together. _

“Yeah,” Changbin says, undeterred by the obviousness of Felix’s statement. “I know you didn’t get the greatest first impression of him, but that was the exception, not the rule. He really is a lot better than that.”

Felix hums halfheartedly. He’s still not sure about Chan, and regardless of what Changbin says, it’s still going to take Felix a bit of time to get past his first encounter with Chan.  

“Anyway, the main thing I learned was that you can’t run from your nightmares.” Changbin’s voice is soft and low again. “You always have to sleep eventually.”

As if to prove Changbin’s point, another yawn forces its way past Felix’s lips, and he suddenly wants to laugh almost as much as he wants to cry. “Yeah,” he mutters, voice thick, “I guess so. It’s all just in my mind, right?”

“Yeah.” Changbin doesn’t sound convinced himself, but Felix tries to believe him anyway. 

“Okay,” he says, lifting his hand away from the bunny so he can push himself to his feet, “I guess there’s only one thing to do then.” He takes a step towards the door, ready to head back inside (or as ready as he’ll ever be), but hesitates when he hears a small squeak from his feet and sees the bunny hopping forward with him. He falls still and the bunny comes to a stop just in front of him, tilting its head up at him.

“Is that the same bunny?” Changbin asks from somewhere beside him, and Felix jumps a little.

“Yeah,” he answers, looking up from the ground to find Changbin an arm’s length away, looking down at the small animal curiously. “I thought it would’ve run off by now.” Felix takes another few steps forward and the bunny stays right with him. “Is this . . . normal?” 

Changbin shrugs, picks up the lamp from the ground, and eases the door open. “I’ve had small animals stick around me before, but I don’t think any have ever followed me home. It’ll probably run off after we’re inside.”

Felix glances back at the bunny, its black eyes flickering gold with the reflection of the fire in the lamp, then up at Changbin, who’s already through the doorway. Felix slips inside after him, and the bunny follows, hopping in before he can close the door behind himself and settling down by his feet once more. Felix looks helplessly at Changbin. 

Changbin looks down at the bunny, eyes narrowed and calculating for a moment they soften and focus back on Felix. “I guess it’s spending the night, then,” he whispers.

Felix blinks at him. “What?”

Changbin shrugs, hands the lamp to Felix, and reaches past him to close the door. “I’m usually a light sleeper so if it wants to get out at all I’ll wake up. It should be fine.”

“What if you don’t wake up?”

“Trust me, if it really wants to leave, it’ll make sure we know.”

“What if it doesn’t want to leave?”

“Then we’ll figure it out in the morning.”

“Are you sure?”

“Felix, it’ll be fine.” Changbin gives him a soft, tired smile like he knows exactly why Felix is stalling and dragging this out (he probably does) and Felix caves.

“Okay,” he says quietly, avoiding Changbin’s eyes, “I guess, uh, goodnight then.”

“Night.” Changbin starts head back to his empty sleep mat, only to pause and turn back to Felix. “Sleep well,” he says earnestly, thought Felix isn’t sure he has any say in the matter.

“I hope so,” Felix answers, then troops to his own sleep mat, leaving Changbin and Chan behind. The bunny hops along by his feet, and when he sets the lamp down by his pillow, pulls his blanket over his shoulders, and lays down, it curls up on the ground beside him. He reaches forward to stoke its soft fur one more time before extinguishing the lamp, and it makes a small humming sound almost like it’s purring. 

Soon the lamp’s wick fades out from gold and the room falls into darkness around Felix. He takes a deep breath, closes his eyes, draws his hands in against his chest, and tries to paint a pretty picture in his head of light dappled through green leaves above him; then takes another breath and tries to remember the soothing sound of the river gurgling and running against the banks where he’s used to laying quietly in the warm seasons. As sleep starts to creep up on him, the memories begin to lose their clarity and vividness, and he can only hope that his dreams will be as gentle as the slowly fading images in his head.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> so this drained my soul and my will to live on countless late nights but now I can look at that 9k word count and confidently say "oo she thicc" so i guess it was worth it, right??


	18. XVIII. Lean On Me

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> woojin finally gets the chapter he DESERVES

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> what is UP my guys I'm sososososo sorry for not updating for a month and a half ;-; I had like half of this written in january but then mentally it just Wasn't Happening and it was really slow going for a while thank you for bearing with me I love you

It’s so easy to forget about the Rounds.

Though Felix’s death hangs over Woojin’s house like a dark cloud, he’s too preoccupied trying to keep the storm from weathering down Jisung to think much about it. It’s only when rays of light begin to break through the clouds and Woojin can tell himself that Jisung _is_ recovering - his nightmares decrease in frequency and he starts sleeping a healthy amount, and though he’s still cloaked in sadness, there’s brief moments where his brightness shines through like before - that reality decides to come crashing down.

Woojin can hear the squad before they reach the forge, the colonel’s loud voice carrying and cutting into the peace of the day. Something twists in his gut and Woojin hopes, for Jisung’s sake, that he’s still sound asleep like he had been when Woojin had woken up. Woojin can handle Song, even if he despises him for what he’s done, but Jisung… he doesn’t think Jisung can. He shouldn’t have to, not when the wound is still fresh. A Cycle is hardly enough time to heal and Jisung has only started to build himself back up. He doesn’t need this. So Woojin takes a deep breath and tries to calm his mind as best as he can, wearing the most neutral expression he can. Song won’t be happy - he never is; the rumour mill isn’t sure he’s capable of the emotion - but if Woojin plays his cards right, maybe he can be placated.

The sharp rapping on the door is aggressively jarring, much like Song. Woojin isn’t looking forward to his visit, especially because Woojin once again has nothing to give him. The colonel never takes the news well.

“Colonel Song,” Woojin greets, “it’s nice to see you again.” A lie if ever he’s told one, but it sounds better than telling Song to fuck off. “Unfortunately, there is nothing of interest to you here today. All of my work this month has been farm tools, which I have already sold to the farmers.” Song’s eyes narrow.

“No weapons? I know General Lee has commissioned some.” Woojin grits his teeth.

“He did, but I’ve been busy this month and have yet to start the order. And as I’ve told you before, the weapons don’t belong to you anyway.” He’s pushing his luck with that statement, he can tell.

“Perhaps you should consider prioritizing the Prince’s order over those of peasants.”

“I was told there was no rush on the swords, therefore I did not think to prioritize them over the current needs of the farmers. I’m sure the Prince understands.” If Woojin didn’t know any better, he’d think Song wanted to start a fight with him.

“Who are _you_ to assume anything about the Prince?” Song raises his voice, disdain evident. “I don’t think he would take kindly to find out that you are disrespecting him in this way.” Oh he’s definitely trying to pick a fight with Woojin. He has to bite back a comment on the fact that he’s _met_ the Prince and that he’s well aware the he isn’t a stuck up brat, as much as he wants to see the look on Song’s face.

“You’re right,” Woojin relents somewhat begrudgingly and he can see Song blink in surprise at his lack of resistance, “I shouldn’t assume things about the Prince. My impression of him is just that he’s a fair, understanding person. My apologies if that is incorrect; you know him better than I do.” Song opens and closes his mouth several times, not knowing what he can say that won’t make it seem like he’s somehow insulting the Prince, and maybe Woojin is just a little bit satisfied at, for once, getting him to shut up. Maybe he’ll even be so flustered he’ll leave. Woojin smiles inwardly at the mere thought.

“Woojin?” A confused mumble turns that smile to a frown in an instant and he turns to see a disheveled, freshly awake Jisung standing a few feet away, sleep addled brain not quite catching up the situation immediately. The colonel sees him as well, and there’s no way that’s a good thing because now he’s found his new target.

“I see you still have your good for nothing assistant,” he snorts and Woojin can see Jisung’s brain waking up the instant he hears Song’s voice. “He lives with you now? How touching. Let me guess: no one else wanted him and you decided to take him in out of the kindness of your heart.” Jisung is definitely awake now, eyes wide and filled with… fear? Horror? Pain? Woojin isn’t quite sure but his heart wrenches at the sight of it. Song lets out a deriding snort and sun and stars all Woojin wants is for him to stop talking because he’s only making it worse. “Aren’t you old enough to take care of yourself, boy? And yet you’re living with your employer. How pathetic.” Slowly, Jisung backs away, further into the house and away from Song’s eyes, but the damage has been done.

“If that will be all, Colonel,” Woojin forces out.

“We’ll be back next Cycle, as always. Do take care.” Song’s smile never gets less unsettling and Woojin is sure to watch him until he’s sure he’s gone before he closes his door and runs an hand down his face. Carefully, he approaches the bedroom and peers in. Jisung is staring out into space, face unreadable if not for the hurt in his eyes and the silent tears slowly running down his face. Woojin’s chest tightens and he goes to sit in front of him and opens his arms to Jisung, who instantly goes into the embrace. There isn’t much he can do other than this because it isn’t Song’s comments that are cutting Jisung the deepest, but Woojin still fills the silence with quiet reassurances every so often. All he can give Jisung right now is love and security and hope and pray that this hasn’t hidden the small bit of light Jisung had found.

Jisung’s nightmares return in full force.

 

The room is gray when Woojin wakes up, morning sun not yet high enough to pour through his windows. He has to admit he’s thankful for that; too often has the sunlight blinded him the moment he opens his eyes. Pushing himself into a sitting position, he rubs his eyes to clear some sleep’s fuzziness from his vision and pushes his hair off his forehead. It’s starting to hang over his eyes; he’ll need to cut it soon. His hair has been the least of his worries this past Cycle, however, and Woojin’s eyes trail down to the floor. Jisung’s still sleeping peacefully, thankfully, and Woojin can’t help but to feel some relief at that. More often than not Jisung’s nightmares have woken both of them up or - in what Woojin thought worse cases - he’s woken up in the morning to find Jisung’s sleep mat empty and Jisung looking more dead than alive (this in particular has made a resurgence in the past few days following the Rounds). Any day Woojin can wake up and find Jisung still asleep is a win in his book.

Careful as he can, he tiptoes around the room to his dresser and changes out of his sleep shirt. It’s still only the middle of the ninth Cycle so the weather is warm, but the oppressive humidity of the eighth Cycle seems to mostly be gone. Though even with the warm weather, the mornings have begun to turn nippy. Woojin eyes his thin jacket, neatly folded and not yet worn, but ultimately decides against it. It isn’t quite _that_ cold yet. Next is the kitchen, to see what food he has to buy for breakfast. He’d intended to stop by the grocer yesterday, but a project had taken up far more time than he’d thought and by the time he’d finished it had been night and well past closing time. Oh well, the selection is better in the morning anyway. Woojin’s kitchen is quite bare, he’ll admit that readily. Cooking for two people has been a bit of an adjustment and Woojin would never begrudge Jisung anything extra he wants. He’s still young, after all, and it’s only food. Woojin can always buy more. He supposes he’s fortunate in that respect; his Capital commissions pay more than well enough. Woojin’s eyes widen and he mentally slaps himself. Shit, that kid from the Capital is coming any day now. He’s almost forgotten.

 _Eggs, bread, cabbage, pork, radishes, carrots…_ He goes through his mental checklist of groceries and wonders if he shouldn’t get extra for this new arrival. Seungmin had never actually told him when they’d be getting to District Nine which makes this all a little hard to plan, but Woojin doesn’t want to buy too much food and then have it go to waste. He’s always done his best to get just enough so he can finish it all before it starts to go bad. Of course, he could always just go buy more _when_ the Capital kid shows up. That would be easier and more logical. But does he seem like a bad host for not thinking ahead? The kid’s from the Capital so their standards are different, Woojin had gathered that much from his time there. It’s a bit different here though, and the kid’ll have to get used to it anyway so it can’t be _that_ bad if Woojin isn’t ready to make an amazing three course meal for them. No, he’s going to be responsible with his purchases and only buy what he needs for himself and Jisung, he decides as he pushes open the door to the grocer’s.

“Morning, Woojin,” Jaehyuk calls from behind the counter, a yawn slipping past his lips. His parents own the shop, but Jaehyuk usually takes the afternoon shifts or closes up. He doesn’t seem to be used to being up so early and Woojin shakes his head at him.

“Just woke up?” He raises a brow at the disheveled nest of hair on Jaehyuk’s hair.

“I hope not,” another voice rings out from the back and Jaehyuk’s mother, Eunji, emerges, “he was meant to have stocked everything this morning.” Jaehyuk mumbles out a response, but she cuts him off with gentle tsk. “Jaehyuk, you can’t serve customers with your hair like this. Woojin’s right: you look like you just woke up. Go back upstairs and get whatever that,” she gestures to the mess on his head, “is under control.” Eunji gently shoos him away then turns back to Woojin. “You’re back sooner than usual.”

He hums in agreement, picking up a basket and placing a loaf of bread in it. “I underestimated last time.” Woojin makes his way through the fruits and vegetables methodically, picking his eggs only at the end of the rest of the ingredients will cushion them. Belatedly he wonders if he should have waited until Jisung woke up so he could ask if he wanted anything, but it’s too late now. He places the basket on the counter and fishes through his coin pouch as Eunji totals his items.

“How’s Jisung doing?” She asks softly. Word had spread about Felix not long after the incident and Woojin’s had to field inquiries about Jisung from many townspeople. It’s not every day a bright, reliable person like Jisung withdraws and stops going to work out of the blue and everyone wants to know how he’s dealing with the death of his brother.  

“I can’t say for sure,” Woojin sighs. He wishes he could, but only Jisung knows how fine he really is. “He’s doing as well as he can.” He thinks - hopes - Jisung is doing better. He doesn’t know if Jisung will ever be the same - doubts he will, truthfully - but for Jisung’s sake he wants him to be all right. Eunji gives him an understanding smile.

“He’ll be okay, Woojin.” It’s as if she’s read his thoughts. And honestly, Woojin believes her.

 

Jisung is awake when Woojin returns with groceries, probably has been for some time based on his alertness and the fact that he’s already made the fire, and he practically jumps up from the table when Woojin opens the door. “Oh,” he says, blinking at the basket in Woojin’s arms, “I could’ve done that.”

“I was up anyway,” Woojin shrugs, “don’t worry about it, Jisung.” Jisung’s brows crease. He still seems to think he’s somehow bothering Woojin and needs to make up for it, which is nonsense, of course. “You can help me make breakfast, if you want,” Woojin suggests, hoping to make the crease go away.

“Yeah,” Jisung’s expression relaxes, “sure.” Neither of them eat anything complex for breakfast - Woojin usually just makes eggs and bacon or oatmeal and Jisung generally opts for toast and butter unless there’s oatmeal - but it’s more the thought that counts than anything else. Woojin places the basket on the table and runs a sleeve across his forehead. His kitchen is small and the heat from the fire has already made it unpleasantly warm.

Another time of year, he’d throw open the window as well, just to offset the heat from the fire, but it’s still too warm out for that to be of much help. He has to settle for cooking quickly instead. Jisung moves from his place at the table with a few slices of bread and effectively switches places with Woojin, taking his spot at the stove. He puts a pan over the fire and lays down his bread in it, keeping a careful eye so he doesn’t burn them. Woojin, for his part, sets to slicing his pork. Then he and Jisung switch again as Jisung finishes his toast and frees up the pan for Woojin to use. Jisung sits facing the stove as he slathers butter on his toast. It’s easier for the them to talk this way.

“Sleep well?” Woojin ventures cautiously.

“Yeah,” Jisung’s voice is soft, “I actually did.” Woojin turns his head to look at Jisung behind him, but he can’t quite read the expression on his face. He hopes Jisung doesn’t feel guilty about sleeping well and healing. For a brief moment he considers saying it, but Woojin thinks better of it. After all, if he’s wrong then he’ll only make things worse. “Why’d you get so much meat?” Jisung’s voice cuts in.

“Oh, I was thinking of doing stew later.” Carefully, Woojin transfers his eggs and bacon to a plate and gives the fire a forlorn look. He can’t say that waiting for the fire to go out is his favorite part of the day. “If that’s okay with you. I’m open to other ideas.” Finally, he can turn his full attention to breakfast and having a conversation.

“Fine by me,” Jisung shrugs. “You make a lot of stew, huh?” There’s a teasing lilt in his tone.

“Hey, I’m busy most of the day. All I have to do for stew is throw some stuff in the pot and wait for it to be done,” Woojin waves his fork at Jisung menacingly, but smiles, “you can always eat at the inn if you don’t want my stew.” The corners of Jisung’s mouth quirk up, but he hides them just as quickly with a mouthful of toast.

“You ever think about how much money you spend on eggs?” he says through crunches, a few stray crumbs flying onto the table between the two of them.

“Not really,” Woojin raises a brow. “Why?”

“I was just thinking about it. ‘Cuz chicken farmers don’t have to pay for them, you know…” Jisung’s eyes meet Woojin’s, clearly searching for a reaction. But Woojin just tilts his head; he doesn’t know where Jisung is going with this.

“Sure, but I’m not a chicken farmer, Jisung.”

“Of course not,” Jisung shakes his head, “but haven’t you ever thought of, I don’t know, raising a chicken or something.”

“A chicken?” Woojin can’t help the disbelief that creeps into his voice; it’s not exactly the first animal you think of for a pet.

“Yeah,” Jisung looks almost hopeful, “since you don’t like dogs and I’ve never seen a cat come anywhere near this place.” He’s finished his toast by now, but is waiting for Woojin to finish eating before he leaves the table. Or he just really wants to have this conversation. Truth be told, Woojin _had_ considered getting some sort of pet when he’d moved back to the district - something to fend off the loneliness - but he’d never felt that he’d be able to give an animal the care and attention it needed and had decided against it. And eventually Jisung had started spending large portions of his days in the forge with him and the loneliness had lessened.

“I guess it’d be nice,” he says thoughtfully, “but I’d feel bad not being able to properly look after it and all that. I don’t know anything about raising chickens and I don’t have the time to sit down and read about it.”

“I’ll do it,” Jisung sounds brighter and more determined than he has in weeks and Woojin can’t help but blink in surprise. “If I take care of it, can we get one? It could be kind of like a… a birthday present.” A cautious smile etches itself onto his face and Woojin doesn’t have the heart to say no (not that he’d intended to). Especially at the mention of Jisung’s birthday which was a topic he’s been incredibly adamant to avoid, since Felix’s is tomorrow.

“Okay.” Jisung looks almost shocked, as if he hadn't _actually_ expected this to work.

“Really?”

“Yeah,” Woojin nods, “as long as you know what you're doing, I don't mind.” Maybe, just maybe, the chicken is what Jisung needs. Though he's started to piece himself back together, it's a bumpy road and it isn't hard to see that Jisung's mind often falls back into the darkness he's trying to pull away from. Having something else to care for might give him enough of a distraction to keep that from happening - or at least make the occurrences less frequent. Besides, people always say animals can help with healing. Granted, Woojin’s pretty sure they mean dogs and cats and the like, but a chicken can't be that far off.

Jisung all but springs up as Woojin collects their dishes and moves them to the wash basin, eyeing the ever growing stack wearily. Though buying double the food hasn’t bothered him, doing double the dishes definitely has. He’s about to ask Jisung if he can set to work on the fire in the forge when he can hear the creaking of his door hinges and turns his head to see Jisung halfway out.

“Where are you off to?” It isn’t that Jisung never leaves, but he’s certainly spent more time in Woojin’s house than anywhere else for the past Cycle.

“To the farms? Someone’s gotta have a chicken they’d be willing to sell.”

“Oh,” Woojin blinks, “you meant now?” Jisung’s forehead creases and his eyes fall.

“Yeah… is that not okay?”

“It’s fine,” Woojin says quickly, “I was just surprised is all.” And he doesn’t exactly have a coop or feed or anything, but he supposes they can figure that out when Jisung gets back. “Do you need any money?”

“No.” Woojin raises his brows quizzically. “I’ll stop by home on my way.”

“You sure that you’re okay with that?” Jisung hasn’t been to his house since last Cycle and he hesitates, starts to say something, then stops.

“Yeah. I’ll be fine.” It’s unclear if he’s reassuring Woojin or himself, but Jisung is out the door before Woojin can say anything else. He stares at the wood for a moment, then shrugs. If Jisung says he’ll be all right then Woojin trusts him. As much as Woojin can say he understands the kid, no one knows Jisung as well as Jisung does. Except maybe Felix. He winces at the thought. With so few kids their age in the district, Jisung and Felix were just as much best friends as they were brothers. Though Jisung won’t talk about it, Woojin figures that losing Felix was like losing his other half, in a way.

Soft tapping at the door brings him out of his ruminations and Woojin, probably because he’s just had him on his mind, half expects it to be Jisung, even though he wouldn’t knock. He starts a bit when he’s not, in fact, met with Jisung’s wide eyes and instead with someone a good head taller than Jisung. Even Woojin has to tilt his head to met the boy’s eyes.

“Oh, Minjun,” there’s a momentary pause, “What brings you here? Jisung just left, if you’re looking for him.” Minjun shakes his head.

“I know; I passed him on the way,” he gestures to a broken tool in his hand. “I came to see if you could fix this, anyway.” Woojin opens the door a fraction wider and Minjun steps in, though he looks a bit awkward. They know each other - Woojin knows just about all the farmers and their kids - but compared to Felix and Jisung, he’s not really all that close with Minjun.

“You know, usually the front door is for guests, not customers,” he takes a look at the sickle Minjun’s handed him, taking the short walk to the forge. “Sun and stars, how did you break this?” Woojin can’t imagine what one would have to do with a sickle to snap it in half.

“How’d you know I’m the one who broke it?” Minjun grumbles, “It could’ve been my parents.”

“But was it?”

“No,” Minjun sighs, “but it wasn’t really my fault. That thing’s too rusty.” Woojin can see that and he could probably make a comment on taking care of metal so it doesn’t get rusty, but he just hums in acknowledgment instead. He’s sure Minjun knows, he’s probably just a bit careless. “So can you fix it?”

“Course I can.” Even if he couldn’t, it’s not like there’s another blacksmith in the district that could. Woojin supplies practically all the tools in the district, unless a merchant happens to bring some. “I can probably have it done by tomorrow, if you can come by. Or I could send Jisung.”

“You don’t have to,” Minjun’s voice softens considerably and Woojin glances at him, “I can come.”

“I’ll ask Jisung about it later,” he can practically hear Minjun’s brows shoot up, “I think he’s been feeling cooped up. You know Jisung; he can’t stay inside forever.”

“Yeah, I guess.” There’s a long pause and Woojin almost wants to ask Minjun if he needs anything else seeing as he hasn’t left yet, but there’s something in the expression he wears the stops him. Even if he isn’t exactly close with Minjun, Woojin isn’t going to just kick him out. “I don’t know, I just think it’d be weird. I haven’t seen him since… well, since Felix. I wouldn’t know what to say to him.”

“Just treat him like you did before. I think that’d be best. He’s still Jisung, even if he doesn’t really seem like it right now. So long as you don’t bring up Felix or the Rounds, it shouldn’t be awkward. Maybe tell your parents that too, just in case.” Woojin doesn’t know all that much about Minjun’s parents; really most of the older farmers. Most of them send their kids to him instead of making the trip themselves, so he knows far more about them. “How are they, by the way?” He belatedly figues it’s only polite to ask.

“They’re fine. Sorta on edge, though. They made me stay in the house for the Rounds and I don’t think my mom let me out of her sight until the soldiers left.” In all honesty, Woojin hadn’t even considered how the rest of the village had found the Rounds - he’d had his own worries - but he isn’t really surprised by what Minjun tells him. It makes sense.

“It’s natural that they’re worried about you,” Woojin says, _even if it is a bit unnecessary_. As terrible of a person as Colonel Song is, he’s not just going around killing anyone he feels like. But other than him, Jisung, and Seungmin, no one knows why the colonel went after Felix and it isn’t Woojin’s business to tell.

“It just seems unfair, you know. Felix never did anything to anyone; he didn’t deserve it.” Minjun sounds like he’s walking a fine line between angry and upset.

“Well, I don’t think Song cares about any of that,” he does his best to keep his tone even. The last thing Woojin wants is to make Minjun more angry at the colonel. There’s no way _that_ will end well and the last thing Song needs is a reason to be worse than he already is. “We can only hope he gets taken off the Round.” Unfortunately, Woojin doubts he will be.

 

“Woojin,” Jisung announces ceremoniously as he enters the forge, holding up a white and brown chicken, “meet Sally.” Woojin wipes his brow, setting down his hammer, and eyes the chicken, who, if a bird can, looks confused. She probably hadn’t counted on ending up in a forge when she’d woken up this morning.

“Sally?” He quirks a brow in amusement. It certainly isn’t the most common of names.

“Yeah, doesn’t she look like a Sally?” Jisung settles her comfortably in his arms and all but coos at the hen, “Isn’t she pretty?” Woojin nods in agreement.

“Jisung, where are you planning on keeping her? We don’t have a coop.” Jisung’s face scrunches up in thought.

“She can stay inside for the today and I’ll build her one…?” He looks at Woojin hopefully. What’s Woojin going to do? Say no? The prospect of having a chicken in his home isn’t one he’s thrilled about but what else can he do? It’s not like he has all that many options.

“Sure. I can help you tomorrow, if you want. It’ll probably be faster that way.” Woojin shrugs. “You’re cleaning up any mess she makes, though.” But Jisung has already left the forge, still softly complimenting Sally. Shaking his head, Woojin returns to his work. It can’t be past midday yet and he’s still got a whole day of work ahead of him. Since Jisung is preoccupied with Sally, there’s no help in the forge either. Or company, which is really the worst part of it. Time drags on far more slowly when he doesn’t have anyone to talk to, but Woojin’s always one to look at the silver lining and he figures that at least this way he can really buckle down on his orders. He hasn’t even _begun_ to make a dent on the Prince’s order and that’ll take him several Cycles. Even though Seungmin had told him there was no rush on it, the Prince is going to want the swords at some point and Woojin would rather not be the one to keep him waiting.

The thing about blacksmithing is that you can’t just leave in the middle of a task. So when there’s a veritable pounding on his door while Woojin is hammering at a super heated piece of metal, there’s not much he can do.

“Woojin!” is yelled from outside.

“Jisung!” He calls and there’s a faint “what?” from inside the house. “Go see who’s at the door!” Rather than do that, however, Jisung comes to the doorway between the forge and the house.

“They’re calling for you though.” Normally Woojin wouldn’t make him go, but he also normally doesn’t have people yelling his name. This seems too urgent to make his guest wait.

“Just tell them I’ll be out soon. Please.” Jisung purses his lips a little, but does as Woojin asks. It shouldn’t be too long anyway; Woojin’s nearly done. Jisung doesn’t come back in to tell Woojin what’s happening or to bring in their visitor. There’s voices outside that aren’t quiet enough to be at normal speaking volume, but aren’t loud enough for Woojin to hear what they’re saying until he hears an incredulous “ _You’re_ Woojin?!”. With the metal he’s working on finally losing it’s red glow, he sets down his hammer and decides to see for himself what’s happening.

Seungmin is the one he notices immediately, standing in the gap between Jisung, whose arms are crossed and mouth is drawn in a line, and another, frowning kid. Seungmin’s eyes flit between the two and he holds his arms up slightly, like he’s ready to keep them separate should they decide to progress from indignant staring to actual fighting. He looks visibly relieved at the sight of Woojin.

“No, I’m not. Who the hell are you and why do you care who Woojin is?” Jisung isn’t quite angry, but he’s obviously not happy.

“He’s-” Seungmin opens his mouth in an attempt to diffuse the tense air, but he’s cut off before he can say more than a word.

“I’m Jeongin: his _apprentice_ .” Both Woojin and Jisung’s eyes widen and Jisung’s mouth falls open slightly. “Who the hell are _you_?” Jeongin fires back, with more bite than Jisung had had. Then he catches sight of Woojin and his face brightens. “Oh, you look much more like how Seungmin described Woojin, so you must be him.”

“Um,” Woojin can see Jisung’s attention shift to him and the crestfallen look in his eyes hurts a little more than Woojin cares to admit. He’d entirely forgotten to tell Jisung about the fact that he was getting an apprentice and he’s really regretting that right now. “Yeah, I am. Nice to meet you, Jeongin.” The slamming of a door rings out as Jisung goes back inside and Woojin lets out a deep sigh. Fuck.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> skiz? sorry I only know sally


	19. XIX. Bend Till You Break

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> me disappearing for literally three months and then coming back with a sad ass chapter twice the length of my usual ones??? it's more likely than you think! i literally have no excuse it's just my senior year and i'm slowly dying and my last two braincells have left me for dead.
> 
> this chapter gets uh,,, heavy so see the notes at the end for trigger warnings like pls click down there if u wanna see them pls stay safe i know this was Real rough for me to write and I don't want to hurt anyone :(((

To Jisung’s great dismay, he can still hear Jeongin’s incessant chattering drifting through the open forge windows, even from his spot near the back door of the house. It’s uncomfortably hot out today - a heat wave before the weather eases down for the colder seasons, Woojin says - but Jisung’s need to be as far away from Jeongin as possible has beaten out his desire to stay within the relief of the shade and relative coolness inside the house, so he finds himself sweating outdoors instead.

Sitting cross legged in the grass under the bright sun, Jisung watches Sally walk in circles around him, flapping her wings without taking flight, ruffling her feathers so that each time she momentarily looks like a brown-spotted cloud instead of a chicken. He supposes he could get to work on her coop, but he’s not entirely sure he knows how to build one, if he can do it all by himself, or where he would even get the wood; these were questions he had been planning on asking Woojin, but now Woojin is suddenly preoccupied with his _apprentice_ , and Jisung won’t burden him any further.

Absently, he picks at the grass by his knee, ripping up a few blades and shredding them with deft fingers while he wonders what he should do now. It’s incredibly hard, he realizes, to think about anything without his mind wandering back to Felix. This past Cycle, he’s been getting better at blocking off that uniquely painful path in his brain - the one which leads back to Felix and opens the floodgates in his heart, drowning him once more in utter devastation - but his version of better is still abysmal. He’s sure no one has the patience to deal with his grief anymore though, so he tries his best to put on a brave face for the town when he goes out, and for Woojin when he stays in. But when he’s alone like this, the front cracks and splinters until the lie has crumbled at his feet. Alone as he is now, he can’t pretend he doesn’t still cry quietly in the dead of night after Woojin is long asleep, that he doesn’t still stop in the middle of simple tasks because suddenly it feels impossible to even breathe, that he doesn’t still feel guilt burning dully through him every day. Today especially; the day he used to spend celebrating with Felix he now spends silently wishing he’d been the one that died instead.

Then the door to his right opens abruptly and Jisung jumps, jolted back into the present. Sally squawks at the disturbance, then returns to her strutting. Jisung tenses as someone emerges from the house, but relaxes quickly when he sees that it’s Seungmin and not Jeongin, as he had feared.

“Hey, Jisung, how’re you doing?” Seungmin asks cautiously, closing the door behind him.

Jisung looks up at him only briefly before turning his gaze back to Sally. He knows Seungmin is just asking about his reaction to Jeongin showing up, but he’s hardly in the mood to talk about that either.

Seungmin hesitates, hanging by the door until it becomes clear to him that Jisung won’t say anything on the subject and he steps forward and sits down beside Jisung. “Your dad is doing better.”

Jisung perks up at this, turns to meet Seungmin’s eyes.

“I was worried on the journey back to the Capital, but once we got there and I found your mom and explained everything, she was able to get a doctor over right away. When I left a few days later the doctor had given him a new medicine that was working really well. It looks like your dad is going to be fine.”

Jisung’s shoulders sag with relief and for a moment he forgets his troubles, almost turns to bury Seungmin in a hug before he realizes that Seungmin might not take as kindly to it as Woojin does, and settles instead for the most genuine smile he can manage. “Thank you, Seungmin. I’m really grateful. I know you didn’t have to do that.”

Seungmin smiles back, but there’s a strange hint of sadness swimming in his eyes. “Of course,” he says softly, “I was happy to help. No one should have to lose a parent like that, especially not this young. I’m really glad he’s going to be okay.”

There’s something heavy in his voice that tugs at Jisung’s heart, but when Seungmin speaks again, the weight has vanished, leaving Jisung wondering if he’d only imagined it.

“Your mom sent me off with a letter to give to you,” Seungmin tells him. “I can go get it now if you want to read it.”

Everything comes rushing back. “No, that’s okay,” Jisung says, throat tightening. “I’m . . . too busy to look at it now.”

Seungmin squints at him. “Busy doing what, exactly?”

“I’m trying to figure out how to build a coop for Sally.” It’s not even a lie, really. Sally squawks again as if to prove his point.

“Oh, okay.” Seungmin seems almost as relieved by the answer and subsequent change in subject as Jisung is. “Well, do you want help?”

“ _Can_ you help?” Jisung asks, surprised. “I thought you were a merchant.”

Seungmin makes a face. “I don’t just buy and sell from other people; I make my own stuff too. A chicken coop can’t be that hard.”

“Huh, okay then.” Jisung pushes himself to his feet and gestures for Seungmin to do the same. “Let’s try I guess.”

 

By the time they finally return to Woojin’s with wood for the coop, the sun is nearing the highest treetops of the Deepwoods, well past its peak in the sky, and Seungmin seems to be deeply regretting his claims that building the coop would be easy. Finding the wood alone had been hard enough, and they haven’t even figured out what the coop should look like. Jisung is surprised to find that he doesn’t quite mind though. In fact, he’s almost enjoying the challenge. And the company. It’s much better than being alone with his thoughts.

“How long are you staying in the district?” Jisung asks Seungmin after they’ve maneuvered around the house and back to the grass behind it.

They dump the wood on the ground and Seungmin shrugs. “I was thinking about staying for a while.”

“Really?” Jisung’s eyes widen and he feels strangely hopeful.

“Yeah,” Seungmin nods, “I’ve been travelling a lot lately and I could use a break. Plus I like it here; I like the people.”

At this, Jisung can’t help but smile in spite of the guilt twisting in his stomach; he hasn’t forgotten how horrible he’d been to Seungmin last Cycle, but even still, Seungmin had brushed past it all and offered to help Jisung anyway. Maybe Seungmin is just driven by his own guilt for the part he’d played in Colonel Song finding Felix, but that doesn’t change the fact that he’s already helped Jisung more than he knows. Besides, aside from the colonel and his troops, Jisung blames no one for Felix’s death but himself.

“I’m glad,” Jisung says, and he means it.

Seungmin smiles tentatively back. “I guess we have plenty of time to finish this coop then. Or add to it.”

Jisung nods. “Maybe we don’t need to rush to finish today then. All we need is enough to keep Sally safe and in one place overnight.”

“Sounds good to me,” Seungmin agrees, “I’ll just go get some stuff and then we can start. You can come with, if you want.”

“I kind of want to avoid going through the house right now if I don’t have to. Wouldn’t want to disrupt any of the important work they’re doing in there, you know?” A bit too much emotion sneaks into Jisung’s voice, betraying him, but Seungmin doesn’t comment on it, just shrugs and heads on his way, leaving Jisung to watch over Sally and the wood.

Jisung turns away from the door and crouches down to Sally’s level, reaching out to pat the feathers on her back. “We’re gonna do our best, okay girl? We’re gonna make you the greatest little house we can. It’s gonna take a little while, though. Can you be patient?”

Sally squawks, and although Jisung knows she can’t really understand him, he takes it as a yes anyway. “You’re the best,” he coos. Sally squawks again, ruffles her feathers, sets herself down on the ground, blinks. “All right, I’ll leave you be then. Seungmin will be back soon anyway.”

 

When Jisung finally hears the back door open again he looks up from the wood he’s been sorting through and stands quickly when he sees everything in Seungmin is carrying. “Where did you get all that?” Jisung eyes the roll of metal mesh balanced across both Seungmin’s arms.

Seungmin kneels down and lets the mesh roll onto the ground. “I scrounged it up - figured it would be helpful.” He pulls a hammer out of one pocket and a cloth bag of nails out of another. “This way she can have a travelling coop to stay in while we work on a nice one.”

“I-” Jisung doesn’t quite know what to say. “That would be great. Thank you. You didn’t have to.”

Seungmin huffs. “I know. You keep saying that, but I know. It’s okay. I wanted to.”

“Okay,” Jisung mumbles, feeling slightly chided, but pleased by Seungmin’s affirmations all the same. Silence hangs between them for a moment before Jisung suggests that Seungmin pass him the end of the mesh so they can unfurl it together. When they’ve weighted down each corner with a short stack of wood, Jisung realizes just how much there is. “How do we cut it?”

Seungmin looks up apprehensively. “I figured Woojin would have something in the forge since he works with metals.”

“Oh, that makes sense. I’m sure he does.” Then Jisung realizes that Seungmin means for him to go retrieve whatever that something is. His heart sinks and his shoulders droop as his hands lose their animation and fall still at his sides. “I’ll . . . go ask him,” he forces himself to say, despite every impulse to cross his arms and pout like a child because the _last_ thing he wants is to go inside and see Woojin and Jeongin working together thick as thieves in the forge. But he’s not a child anymore; he’s nineteen Turns old today - even if he’s been doing everything in his power to ignore that fact and pretend the day is just like any other - so he should act like it.

Standing up is easier than Jisung thought it would be, so is walking to the door and pulling it open. It’s when he’s inside, nearing the forge, and Woojin’s quiet voice starts to mingle with Jeongin’s aggravatingly loud one that it grows more difficult. Jisung’s legs no longer want to cooperate; they feel heavy, as if his pockets are filled with rocks and he’s walking into the bottomless water he sees at night, not the stifling forge, which may be sweltering, but is incapable of swallowing him whole like the deep dark blue in his dreams. He shakes his head. This is fine. He is fine. All he’s doing is poking into the forge to ask for a tool that can cut wire. It’ll be all right.

The forge door falls open at his touch, and a wave of heat hits him so suddenly that for a moment he can barely breathe. Inside the forge Woojin is wiping sweat from his brow, watching Jeongin intently. “-a bit of effort. We have to be able to sell this,” he’s saying, but to what he’s referring, Jisung isn’t sure. There’s probably metal melting over the flames, waiting to be moulded into something new, something useful.

Jisung clears his throat. “Sorry to interrupt.” Jeongin jumps like a startled cat. Woojin turns to him with a strange, carefully blank face. “Do you have anything in here that can cut metal?”

“It’s a forge, what do you think?” Jeongin practically sneers, recovering himself quickly.

Jisung keeps his eyes on Woojin, pointedly ignoring Jeongin. Woojin considers for a moment, then moves to a drawer near the back wall and roots through it until he wrangles out an old set of pliers with slightly dulled teeth. “These should do the trick.” He hands them to Jisung, handles first. “What’re you up to out there?”

“Seungmin and I are working on Sally’s coop.”

A small disgruntled sound comes from Jeongin’s side of the forge, and Jisung tries not to feel too smug. Tries. He’s not sure what elicited the noise, but he’ll take the win regardless.  

“Oh. That’s good.” Woojin smiles a little at him, looks the slightest bit relieved by the news. “Have fun then. And I know those don’t look too sharp, but they can still cut right through anything in their way, so keep your fingers clear, all right? Don’t hurt yourself.”

“Ah, there go my evening plans,” Jisung jokes. At least, it’s supposed to be a joke. A bad one. Woojin doesn’t seem to think it’s very funny; his face clouds over and suddenly Jisung feels slightly sick to his stomach, like he’s just eaten too-old stew. “I’m kidding,” he says quickly, as lightly as he can. “Seriously.”

Woojin looks like he’s biting his tongue to keep from saying what he wants to in front of Jeongin, and Jisung casts his eyes to the ground briefly before looking back up to Woojin. He hadn’t meant to make things worse. “Sorry.” The words come out as a barely audible mumble. “I’ll be safe.”

Tension bleeds out of Woojin’s features and Jisung wants to heave a sigh of relief, but he’s acutely aware of Jeongin’s intruding eyes, so he stifles the impulse. Instead he schools a half smile onto his face, thanks Woojin for the pliers, and escapes the forge as quickly as he can without looking like he’s running away.

Outside, Jisung tries to cut the metal where Seungmin indicates without seeing Woojin’s worried face in his head every time the teeth snap sharply together. _Does Woojin really think he would try to hurt himself?_ The thought fuels the unease twisting and turning in his stomach, giving it claws to grip at the bottom of his ribs and latch on, giving it weight so it sinks like stone in his gut, too heavy to budge from its spot. _He wouldn’t, right? Would he?_ Each snap of the pliers drives the question in deeper, until it is a thorn lodged firmly in his chest, threatening to pierce his heart, and he has to pass the work of cutting up the mesh to Seungmin.

“My hands hurt. Too much kickback,” he says lamely as he hands the pliers off. “I’ll find a place for all the wood we don’t need today, get it out of the way.”

“Sure,” Seungmin agrees easily.

Jisung escapes the bite of the plier’s teeth and of his own scrambled thoughts as the slowly dying day’s shadows stretch long and lazy with heat across the ground. Stacking wood against the back wall of the house, he focuses on the feel of it in his hands: Where is the wood smoothest? Where are there dips and rough patches? This helps narrow his world down to a single feeling, leaving little room for anything else, and gives him a chance to breathe before falling back into reality.

Unlike the firewood Woojin keeps for the stove and the forge, which has jagged ends, is pitted with gnarled holes, and covered with rough bark that snaps and crackles and blazes to life when the first flames light against it, this wood has been cut and sanded for building, and Jisung’s fingers glide easily over it without catching a single splinter. When he lets the pieces fall from his hands onto the pile and turns his palms up to examine them, they aren’t scratched or red or pitted with indents like they usually are; they are perfectly fine. He isn’t hurt at all. He tries for a small smile. This is good.

When all the wood is stacked, Jisung comes to stand midway between Sally and Seungmin. The segments of mesh they need have been completely cut free, ready to be put to use. The pliers have disappeared.

“Ready whenever you are,” Seungmin says, already lining up a sheet of mesh with a frame of the leftover wood.

“You hold it down and I nail it together?” Jisung asks. Seungmin nods, passes him the hammer with one hand, shakes a few nails out of the bag with his other.

It goes like this: each side of the coop comes together faster than the last and they play off each other as easily as water sliding down a duck’s back, so that Jisung feels as though it is the hundredth time they’ve worked together, not the first. They finish connecting the five sides into a wide box with mesh for walls and an open bottom just as the last sliver of sun slips down past the tops of the tallest trees to the west. The sky flashes golden before beginning to fade silver and blue, and Jisung pours a small pile of the chicken feed he’d gotten earlier onto the grass for Sally. When she struts over to peck happily at it, Jisung and Seungmin place the travelling coop over her to ensure she stays safe through the night.

“I’d say that’s a solid day’s work,” Seungmin says, clapping his hands together and offering a small smile to Jisung.

“Yeah,” Jisung nods, “I think it went well.” But suddenly it hits him that there’s nothing keeping Seungmin here anymore, and a startling loneliness grips him even though Seungmin hasn’t left yet. “Do you want to stay for dinner?” He blurts.

Seungmin blinks, surprised. After a beat, the smile on his face grows. “I’d love to, if Woojin won’t mind.”

“Woojin doesn’t turn anyone away,” Jisung assures him. “I mean look at me, right? I wouldn’t be here if he did. Plus he likes you; you’ve got nothing to worry about.”

“Are you sure?”

“Yeah. Come on, let’s go ask if you don’t believe me.” Jisung waves Seungmin inside after him, and this time the trip to the forge feels significantly less like a death sentence. He pokes his head through the door, and Woojin appears to be wrapping up for the night. Jeongin is standing off to the side doing nothing, looking decidedly un-apprentice-like. “Hey, is it okay if Seungmin stays over for dinner?”

“Of course.” Woojin’s answer comes without hesitation. “That sounds wonderful.”

“Great.” Jisung grins back at Seungmin. “We’ll go set the table.”

Woojin’s thanks drift through the closing door to their backs as Jisung and Seungmin make their way through the house and into the kitchen, where dinner is waiting in a large pot, simmering over coals Jisung had kept red and glowing after the morning fire.

“Stew is okay, yeah?” Jisung checks with Seungmin as he clears off the table, putting most of what he finds away, leaving the rest of it on the cleanest counter to deal with later.

“Stew sounds good. I didn’t get to eat much meat on the way here, and it’s all seafood in my hometown, so I’ll take what I can get.” Seungmin looks slightly lost, hovering at one end of the table like he’s not quite sure what to do now. Jisung points him to the cupboard with the plates and bowls, and when he opens it there’s only just enough for the four place settings they need. Jisung looks down at the two lone chairs tucked under the table. Right. This was a single occupancy house before he became a permanent resident.

Jisung backpedals into the hallway to call out to the forge at the other end of the house. “Woojin, can you bring your work chair out when you’re done so we have enough seats?”

“Sure,” Woojin’s faint reply floats down to him and Jisung grins a little; that brings them up to three chairs, and he knows exactly what to bring out for Jeongin to sit on.

When Woojin and Jeongin emerge sweaty and starving from the forge, the table is laid cleanly: two bowls at each head and two on either side, all filled halfway to leave room for seconds, large spoons at each setting, a wooden plate with freshly sliced bread at the center. Beneath the table are the two chairs Jisung and Woojin usually occupy, an empty space waiting for the work chair Woojin said he’d bring, and the rickety old stool that lives out back behind the house, metal rusted from Cycles of rain, one leg shorter than the rest, giving it a perpetual wobble. Jisung has surrendered his own chair to Seungmin, so Woojin deposits the work chair from the forge at Jisung’s usual spot, leaving Jeongin to take the stool across from him.

Jeongin stares long and hard at the stool, turns to Jisung and glares at him as if his eyes could set him on fire right then and there. He walks stiffly and sinks onto the stool like he’s a piece of precious porcelain, scared to he’ll be broken just by touching the dirty old thing. “What a . . . job, you did, setting this up.” Jeongin speaks through gritted teeth, still eyeing Jisung the way one would eye a muddy, wart-covered toad in a ditch.

“Thanks,” Jisung says, tilting his head, daring Jeongin to throw a fit.

Woojin and Seungmin, seated on either side of them, both clear their throats and give thanks for the meal before starting to eat. Jisung glances down at his own food, utters a quick ‘thank you for the food’ and takes a bite. Maybe that’s all the fight Jeongin will put up. Jisung almost has time to be relieved (and, shamefully, the slightest bit disappointed) before Jeongin speaks up again.

“It’s a good thing you took that chair,” Jeongin muses, snide, “I doubt you’d be able to see over the table if you’d taken this one.”

Ah, there it is. Jisung grits his teeth, swallows hard. “I think I’d be just fine. We don’t all slouch like that.”

Jeongin’s back goes rigid and he glowers. “Even so, with your stature . . . maybe it’s best you didn’t need to find out. Don’t you think so, Jihoon?”

To Jisung’s right, Woojin chokes on his stew. Briefly, Jisung considers the legality of murder, before taking a breath and shrugging instead. “Sure, whatever makes you happy, Jeonghan.”

Jeongin’s eyes go wide and his spoon freezes halfway to his lips. Seungmin coughs into the back of his hand. “So, Woojin,” he cuts in before Jeongin can get another word in edgewise, “I really like this strew.”

“Thank you,” Woojin says in a slightly strained voice.

Jeongin opens his mouth again and Seungmin hurries on. “It’s so rich. What do you put in it?”

“Oh, you know, the usual stuff.” Woojin shrugs. “Leftover meat from whatever I made last, flour, salt and pepper and any spices I want to try, fresh greens from the market; it’s not a set recipe. We like variation.”

“Well it turned out really well today.” Seungmin turns to Jisung. “Thanks for asking me to stay, this is way better than what they have at the inn.”

“Of course,” Jisung says, some of the Jeongin-induced tension draining out of his tight muscles. “Are you staying there?”

Seungmin quirks a brow.

“At the inn, I mean.”

“Yeah.” Seungmin nods. “Why?”

Jisung sets down his spoon so he can tangle his fingers together in his lap, twisting them to distract himself. “I just thought . . . I mean . . . why not stay at my house? Otherwise it’s just, you know . . .” he trails off, doesn’t have the heart to say what he and Seungmin and Woojin all know already: _empty._

“Just what?” Jeongin wonders out loud. Jisung pretends not to hear.

“Are you sure?” Seungmin asks.

Jisung nods. “You already know the layout, and it’s closer to here than the inn anyway. Fish can go too if you want; there’s a pasture out back.”

“It won’t be weird for me to be there alone?” There’s a questioning look on Seungmin’s face, like he doesn’t quite understand that without Felix or his mother in the house anymore it is nothing more than four walls and a roof, filled only with memories that will hurt Jisung.

“It’s fine, seriously.” Jisung assures him, “I mean . . . you don’t have to if you’re uncomfortable.” His voice trails off to a mumble. “I just figured I’d offer just in case, ‘cause you said you’d be here for a little while and I know the inn gets expensive, so you know . . . there’s a place for you. If you want it.”

Jeongin’s brows furrow and he looks accusingly at Jisung. “Why aren’t _you_ liv-” he cuts off abruptly with a pained grunt and turns his glare onto Seungmin.

“No, no. I’d love to save some money,” Seungmin jumps in, “I just didn’t want it to be weird for you. But if it’s all right then I’d really appreciate it. Thank you for offering. Is it okay for me to head over tonight?”

“Sure,” Jisung shrugs, relieved he hasn’t overstepped, “go ahead.”

“Great.” Seungmin turns to Jeongin. “You can help me once we’re done eating.”

Jeongin’s blinks. _“What?”_

 

Despite his indignant complaints all through the rest of dinner, Jeongin does indeed end up leaving with Seungmin to move his things to Jisung’s house, and Jisung isn’t at all sad to see him go. Jeongin’s absence means peace and quiet within the house, means that for one last short breath of time, Jisung doesn’t feel pushed to the side. A dull flickering light compared to Jeongin’s bright blazing burn. An afterthought. When Jisung changes into his sleepwear and scrubs his face clean for the night, he imagines the cold water dousing all that is left of his feeble flame, and his cheeks are red and raw when he is finished.

By then the sun is long lost to the night; it has escaped to some place far beyond even the Deadwoods, leaving the sky a thick, velvety black out the windows. When Jisung pushes one open in the bedroom he shares with Woojin - which they’ll now also share with Jeongin - the air feels just as rich and royal against his skin. It is a heavy blanket draped over him, threaded with pine sap and the quiet lullaby of nightbirds, carried in by the wind. He takes a deep breath and it soaks through him, sends him sinking to the floor, exhausted.

Leaning forward on his knees, Jisung grabs the corner of his sleep mat and drags it towards him. The pillow that is meant for his head but often ends up clutched tight to his chest by morning wobbles atop the mat as it slides across the floor. As Jisung pulls, he turns turns the mat sideways so that he can press it against the wall under the window and make more room for the one Jeongin will spread out for himself when he returns. Jisung would very much like to be as far away from him as possible.

Once the mat is placed snug under the window, Jisung steps carefully onto it, leans his back against the wall, tucks his knees to his chest. His arms hang loosely over his legs, like he wants to reach out to something, but there’s nothing for him to grab hold of.

The room is filled with a long, weighty quiet until the hinges of the door creak. A moment later Woojin appears in the threshold. The sleeves of his old shirt droop down almost to his elbows, and when he moves, as carefully as a large bear trying to thread through tightly knit trees, the bottom of the shirt catches on his thighs. In the lamplight the graying fabric seems to ripple like water at the top of a stream. Woojin crosses the floor silently and sits down by Jisung’s side. He’s close enough that Jisung could lean over and rest his head against Woojin’s shoulder, can feel the heat coming off of Woojin in light waves settle against his skin, but there’s enough space in that small gap for Jisung to know that Woojin felt the tear this morning too. Jeongin’s arrival, a wedge lodged between them, pushing out and away on either side, though Jisung is sure he feels the strength of it more acutely. He glances down at the strip of the sleep mat that lays uncovered by either of their legs. He is afraid of that distance already between them. He is terrified that it will grow. He can’t lose Woojin too. He can’t.

“I’m sorry I didn’t tell you Jeongin was coming,” Woojin says softly, breaking the silence. “I didn’t know he was going to show up so soon.”

Jisung hooks his fingers together and runs his thumb against his palm. He shouldn’t be this hurt.

Woojin sighs, and it’s a light thing, but it feels like the last wisps of smoke escaping a smouldering wick, chased out by darkness. Jisung remembers that Woojin hates making excuses. “It’s not a good excuse, I know,” Woojin speaks as if he has read Jisung’s mind. “I just forgot. I’m really sorry.”

Jisung’s chest is tight; an overstuffed plush toy like the ones he used to make for himself and for Felix, tearing apart at the seams. He knows Woojin didn’t forget because he doesn’t care. He knows things have been hectic lately and Woojin has been preoccupied trying to balance work with him, his new baggage. Jisung knows he’s probably the reason Woojin forgot in the first place, but still. But still, it hurts. For as much as he knows that Jeongin’s arrival coming unannounced was nothing more than the simple slip of a detail from Woojin’s busy mind, there’s still a biting voice in his head telling him it’s because Woojin doesn’t really care, doesn’t value Jisung as much as Jisung values him. Telling Jisung that no matter how much he loves Woojin, he means next to nothing. He is not important.

Jisung clenches his hands together. The voice burns like the startling white of Jeongin’s teeth when he smiles, arrogant, like he owns the world. Jisung tries to push it out, slam and lock a door to keep it away, like he wishes he could do with Jeongin. None of it is true; he knows Woojin loves him. He has felt it countless times in this last Cycle alone: in his patience, pronounced now more than ever although it has always been there, in his voice, soft when he murmurs gentle assurances, in his arms each time they wrap around Jisung and hold him like no one has since his mother left Turns ago, cradling him as if he is something precious, in his steady presence, constant, unwavering. Jisung’s mother is in the Capital, his father with her, and Felix, well he’s gone now, the farthest away of them all, but Jisung knows that family is more than just blood. He knows that he is not alone. Woojin didn’t forget to tell him about Jeongin because he doesn’t care. Jisung shakes his head. Woojin forgot because he is as human as Jisung himself, and sometimes Jisung forgets that. He lets his hands fall apart, open.

“It’s okay,” he says, a crackling whisper. “I understand.”

Woojin turns to him to see if he really means it and Jisung lets a smile ghost at the corners of his lips. He leans over and rests his head on Woojin’s shoulder. The distance shrinks to nothing.

After a moment, Woojin shifts so he can pull his arm out and drape it around Jisung, hugging him closer. “Is it going to be all right with him here?”

Jisung lets out a breath. “Yeah. You need a real assistant. I get that. Just . . . how long is he staying?”

“Just through the beginning of the cold season. Then he has to go back home.”

“Okay. Just a few Cycles then? I’ll live.”

“Are you sure?”

Jisung nods. If it’s for Woojin, it’ll be okay. He can hide out back and build with Seungmin. Or he can go out exploring like he used to. He’ll figure something out. Even as he tells himself this though, a new thought creeps up his spine and settles at the base of his neck. The weight of it pushes his head down so all he can see is the open space on the floor. “I’m just worried about my nightmares.” The words come out scratchy, like he has to tear them from his throat.

“Oh.” Woojin’s arm tightens around him and suddenly Jisung feels very, very small. He curls closer into Woojin’s side. It’s been over a Cycle, and he feels the dull throb of shame beat against his ribs that he still needs this, that all he does is take, take, _take_ from Woojin. Times like these he can’t figure out if he hates himself more for burdening Woojin like this or for his own weakness, which won’t let him stop. He doesn’t deserve this love, this care, not when all he does is take and break and tear apart. He squeezes his eyes shut, but all it blocks out is the light. He can’t block out the truth.

“Is there anything I can do?”

Jisung feels fissures run down his skin and snake though his heart. He sees himself on the ground, drowning in darkness, hand clutched over his mouth to keep himself silent. When his nightmares wake him without rousing Woojin he does this: lay still, scared stiff, feel the unease settle in his gut and beneath his ribs, hold his breath until his head swims and his fingers feel light enough to float away because when he does breathe it comes in sharp drags, sobs, and he must stifle any noise that might wake Woojin. On bad nights, when he is shaken not by the crashing water climbing up his legs, clinging to his chest, dragging him under, but by something far worse, when he has been laying still for so long his limbs feel heavy with static, he forces himself up and rocks himself in the dark. He lets himself think of Felix, lets the pain wash over him again. He remembers the sun shining bright against Felix’s back the last time he saw him, when he sent him away with a death sentence hanging over his head, and weeps while he drowns in the blackness of the night. These are the times he refuses to seek solace in Woojin’s arms and in his gentle comfort. These are the times he feels the full extent of the weight, and knows it is how he’s meant to suffer; alone. He understands. The problem isn’t that Woojin doesn’t love him, it is that he does, and Jisung does not deserve it.

“Jisung.” Woojin’s voice cuts through the thick shadows in his head, and for a moment he is not a man but the sun. “Jisung, you’re doing it again; you’re getting lost. Come back to me.” He turns so that Jisung’s head slips away from his shoulder and he has to meet Woojin’s eyes. “I’m right here,” he says, squeezing Jisung’s arm reassuringly, “I’m not going anywhere.”

And this is it. Everything he’s been pushing down for over a Cycle comes rushing back up to the surface he can’t bear the force of it. It is all too much. Jisung breaks. He pulls back, as far as he can without tearing himself out of Woojin’s grasp. His breath rips sharply through his throat and rattles in his lungs. “Why?”

Woojin’s brows furrow. He doesn’t understand.

“You should.” Jisung’s voice is a whisper. “You should leave me, send me away before I hurt you more.”

“What? Jisung, what are you talking about? Where’s this coming from? You don’t-”

“Don’t lie!” Jisung cuts him off with a sharp cry. Woojin looks like he’s been slapped. “I see it every day. You’re not happy with me here.” The coils around Jisung’s chest haven’t been this tight in ages. They squeeze so hard he can barely breathe, and his voice comes out high and frantic. “I never make you laugh or smile. All I do is make you sad and worried and wake you up at night and distract you from your work and keep you from living your life and I don’t know how to stop. I’m ruining everything. Just get rid of me before I make things even worse. That’ll solve all your problems.”

Woojin’s eyes are wide and hurt. Jisung hasn’t ever seen him look quite like this before and he knows it’s his fault. Again. “Jisung, none of this is your fault. I don’t _want_ you to leave.”

“You should,” Jisung says bitterly. “My birth parents knew, they must have known how terrible I was going to be. They were smart; they got rid of me. When my mom found me out there near the woods she should have left me.”

“Jisung! Don’t say that!” Woojin voice is sharp and Jisung lets it cut through him, but barrels on even though he chokes on every word.

“It’s true. It’s true! My dad almost died when I was supposed to be watching him! Felix-” he cuts off with a sob that wracks his whole body and almost knocks him over. “Felix _did_ die. Sun and stars he was amazing in every way that I’m terrible and he _trusted_ me and now he’s _gone._ It’s my fault. Mine! I killed him. They’ll hate me. They _should_ hate me; I hate myself. It _should_ have been me. The soldiers should have found me instead. _I’m_ the one who should have died, not him. I wish I was dead.”

Woojin’s grip has gone slack from shock on Jisung’s arm so he pulls it away. Suddenly a kite in the air without a string to tether it, he gets halfway to standing and flying away when- “No!” There’s a kind of desperate panic in Woojin’s voice that Jisung has never heard before. It runs through him like ice, turns the tears on his cheeks so cold they burn, freezes him where he is long enough for Woojin to grab his hand so tightly Jisung thinks he must be able to feel every delicate bone hidden just beneath the skin. “Sun and stars, Jisung. Listen to me, please.”

Jisung tumbles back down to the ground. The fear in Woojin’s voice sounds like his own, and it catches him like wind catches branches and shakes him straight through to his bones. He keeps his eyes locked on the floor until Woojin puts a hand on the side of his face as gentle as if he were a newborn, still soft and innocent, and runs his thumb across Jisung’s forehead like it could wipe away the pain and the darkness stuck behind the blood and bone. Jisung looks up to meet his gaze and finds his dark eyes swimming. When Woojin blinks, twin tears track down his cheeks.

“Jisung,” he says, voice thick and wet, “I need you to know that _none_ of that is true.” He shakes his head and cups Jisung’s cheek. “You’re not terrible. You’re not a burden. You’re not ruining my life or anything else. You’re _not_.”

“I am,” Jisung says weakly, tilting his head down so his hair falls over his face.

“No.” Woojin speaks like this is one thing in his life that he has never doubted. He stops squeezing Jisung’s hand and reaches up to brush the hair out of his eyes. “You’re not. You’re hurting, and you’ve been trying for a while hide just how much, but clearly that’s making it hurt more. Pushing it down and isolating yourself isn’t helping, Jisung, and if you’re doing it because you think letting it out and asking for help with be a bother then I _need_ you to know that it won’t be. The last thing I want is for you to hurt any more than you already do.”

Jisung lets out a shuddering breath and realizes he’s shaking so badly his teeth are almost chattering. He hears Woojin, he does, but. “But I deserve it.”

“You don’t, Jisung.” Woojin has never sounded this close to broken. “There are so many people in this world who _are_ terrible that I _know_ you aren’t one of them. You’re kind and caring even now when you’re struggling. I know it’s been so hard for you, but pain only runs as deep as love, so if you’re hurting this much it’s because you’ve loved completely with your whole heart, like you always do.” Woojin swallows hard and combs trembling fingers through Jisung’s hair again.

“You’re the first family I’ve had in Turns, Jisung, and I still don’t why you picked me of all people, but I’m so glad you did. After I lost my grandmother and came back from the Capital, it was just me in this house and this shop and I hadn’t ever been that alone before in my life. There were days when I was so lonely I wasn’t sure how I could keep on going because my whole life was working in the forge but it didn’t feel like living. And then one day you started showing up, and you were here again and again and you kept coming back until you were constant, and then I wasn’t alone anymore. You made this town and this house feel like home again. You’ve helped me so much more than you know and I’m so incredibly grateful, but I don’t think you even realize how bright you are and how many people you touch with your love. I can’t imagine how hard this is for you or how much it hurts, but regardless of what’s happened or what you blame yourself for, I _know_ you don’t deserve this kind of suffering. Jisung, you’re the most important person in the world to me and all I want is for you to feel okay. I’ll do whatever I can to help if you let me. I don’t want to lose you.”

Jisung feels tears fall on his cheeks like rain and he thinks maybe he was the one who didn’t understand after all. He brings a hand up to rest against Woojin’s on his cheek. “I didn’t realize,” he says quietly, “I’m sorry.”

Woojin pulls him in to his chest and holds him close, arms wrapped tightly around him. Just moments ago Jisung would have tried to push away, but now he lets the touch ground him, the hand on his back soothing away the tremors running through him. He rests his forehead against Woojin’s collar and clutches the loose fabric of his shirt like scared children clutch their blankets. “Remember what I told you?” Woojin asks gently. “We’re going to figure this out, all right? I don’t know how, but I said we could do it together and I meant it. I still do. You don’t have to go through this alone, okay? I’m staying right here. I’m not going anywhere.”

Jisung nods weakly. When Jeongin comes back from helping Seungmin unload all his things he’s sure everything else will come rushing back too, but for now he’s going to try. He’ll sort out what to do about his nightmares when they come. Who knows, maybe Jeongin is the type to sleep through a riot and they won’t ever wake him? But at least for a little while longer, he has Woojin right here with him, and it makes the weight of the world feel a little lighter on his shoulders.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> trigger warning for Lots of thoughts about death and some about self-harm tho it's not /super/ serious and nothing actually happens. also passive suicidal thoughts. really just mostly a whole bummer after the first half i'm sorry ://
> 
> on the bright side the next chapter from jc is gonna be THICC and not take a month and a half like these last two so look forward to that!!


	20. XX. No Man Is an Island

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> after like 38760234 years seungmin finally gets his own chapter again

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> this is one THICCC chapter y'all idk what happened but my one braincell really popped tf off (thank you portrait by bang yongguk) but it's what seungmin _deserves_ after not having his own chapter is so long I'm sorry I did him dirty  
>  also just a slight **tw: parental death and guilt in association with that** it's not too bad, but stay safe guys  <3

_ Seungmin?” His father’s voice carries up the stairs, breaking Seungmin’s concentration on the new book he’s been poring over. His father had bought it for him on his last trip out of Hirin and Seungmin already adores it. It’s a collection of sailor’s stories from all around Neris and though most of them are fanciful and probably more myth than fact, they’re fun to read. “Seungmin, are you home?” Carefully folding down a tiny bit of page corner and closing the book, Seungmin rolls off his bed and ambles to the stairs. Unlike usual, his father isn’t waiting at the bottom to see him, so Seungmin goes down to see what’s the cause of this.  _

_ “Dad,” he breaks into a smile as he catches sight of his father, still by the entrance, then tilts his head in confusion. “Why are you all wet?” There’s signs that the summer sun has attempted to dry him off a little, but for the most part it looks as if he’s been caught in a downpour. Water is beginning to pool on the floor around his feet and Seungmin understands why he didn’t move past the entrance. _

_ “Hey, Seungmin,” his father wears an equally bright smile, as though not the least bit bothered to be soaking wet. “I had to take a bit of a dive earlier. Can you bring us some towels?” _

_ “Us?” Seungmin quirks a brow. His father nudges someone out from behind him and Seungmin’s eyes widen. _

_ “Me and uh,” he pauses, furrowing his brows in thought, “what did you say your name was?” _

_ “Hyunjin,” Hyunjin says hoarsely, seemingly trying very hard not to meet Seungmin’s eyes. _

_ “Right, me and Hyunjin.” Seungmin does as he’s asked, noting Hyunjin’s discomfort and inwardly frowning at it. It isn’t like this is the first time they’ve met before, or the first time Hyunjin’s been in his house. His dad vigorously dries off his hair and does his best to stop his clothes from dripping water everywhere; Hyunjin is much more muted in his actions, only gently patting at his shirt and pants and half heartedly running the towel through his hair. “Seungmin, can you give Hyunjin some of your clothes while his dry? I don’t want him walking around in wet clothes; he could get sick.”  _

_ “Yeah, ‘course,” he beckons Hyunjin to follow him. He still looks ridiculously uncomfortable being here, his posture lacking any of the confidence he’d had the last time they’d met, even though he’d looked much worse for the wear. “So,” Seungmin hopes to break the awkward energy, “nice day for a swim?”  _

_ The glare Hyunjin sends him could send a shark running, “That’s not funny.” His voice still has a raspy quality to it that definitely hadn't been there the first time they'd met. _

_ “I didn’t mean it to be,” Seungmin is perplexed, “I just assumed since you’re all wet.” _

_ “Oh,” Hyunjin deflates at that, “right.” Then, more softly, “I can’t swim.” Well, of all the things Seungmin had expected to come out of Hyunjin’s mouth, that certainly hadn’t been one of them. Not knowing how to swim? In District Seven? It’s practically unheard of. They live next to an ocean for heaven’s sake - their town quite literally has a straight drop into the water - and just about everyone in the district will either end up working on the boats or around them. Either way, the water is an unavoidable part of living in Seven so for someone to not know how to swim? It’s crazy. But Seungmin isn’t going to say that, not when it’s obviously a sore subject for Hyunjin. _

_ “Oh, I’m... sorry,” he can’t really think of anything better to say. Seungmin is curious though, and he can’t help himself from asking, “What happened then?”  _

_ “Can’t you just show me where your clothes are? It doesn’t matter what happened.” Seungmin frowns, folding his arms and standing in front of his wardrobe. _

_ “No. It involved my dad, so it matters.” No reaction. “To  _ **_me_ ** _ ,” Seungmin stresses. Hyunjin shifts uncomfortably at that, but his mouth draws in a tight line. _

_ “It's none of your business; don’t stick your nose where it doesn’t belong.” Hyunjin easily steps around Seungmin and shoves him none too gently towards the door. “Now go away.” _

_ “You can’t kick me out of my own room!” He's more than a little irritated now. _

_ “I can and I just did.” With that Hyunjin slams the door right in Seungmin’s shocked face. _

_ “You-” Seungmin’s about to put a new curse word he’d learned from one of his dad’s friends the other day to use when an “ahem” cuts him off. His father stands at the bottom of the stairs, one eyebrow raised at Seungmin. “... take as much time as you need,” he finishes. _

_ “Seungmin, we don’t swear at guests,” his dad beckons Seungmin to follow him as he takes the few steps to the kitchen, his voice isn't stern or angry, rather a gentle chiding above Seungmin's heavy footsteps down the stairs.  _

_ “I wasn't gonna,” he grumbles, taking a seat at the table and folding his arms. His father turns to look at him from the counter. Seungmin's never been very good at lying to him. “Fine...maybe just a little, but he deserved it.”  _

_ “What's bothering you, Little Shark?” A plate of apple slices slides next to Seungmin, followed by his dad.  _

_ “It's not that big a deal, I guess. Hyunjin just sort of annoyed me.” It really  _ **_isn't_ ** _ that big of a deal, thinking back. Hyunjin just happened to hit the right buttons to flare Seungmin's temper. He likes to think himself a pretty patient person, but things are different when they involve his dad. Of course Seungmin worries about him; he's all Seungmin has.  _

_ “Hey, Dad?” A hum of acknowledgment. “What happened earlier?” If Hyunjin won't tell him, then at least his dad will.  _

_ “I don’t know exactly,” his father scratches his head, “one minute we're docking and the next we hear a lot of splashing and see someone’s head go under; figure he fell in. I went in and got him out and now here we are. Poor kid must've coughed up half a bucket of sea water. You think some soup would be good for him? I figure we can at least invite him to stay for dinner.” There’s a short, thoughtful silence. “He's the one you brought last Cycle, right? The one who bolted the minute I asked him if he wanted to report the fight to the soldiers?” _

_ “Why'd you jump in to save him?” Seungmin blurts out instead. His dad raises his brows. _

_ “Well, I can’t just watch someone drown and not do anything. Anyone else would do the same, I'm sure.”  _

_ “But then why did it have to be you?” He swallows hard, trying to quell the swirling emotions that threaten to get the best of him and to steady his wavering voice. “Why couldn’t it have been someone else?” _

_ “That’s just how it happened,” his dad shrugs, “but I’d do it again in a heartbeat, if someone needed me to.” _

_ “What about me?  _ **_I_ ** _ need you.” Seungmin’s voice is small and his vision begins to blur. Suddenly his lap becomes the most interesting thing in the world and he tries to will himself not to cry. _

_ “Hey,” his father says softly, taking Seungmin’s hands, “look at me, Seungmin.” _

_ “I just get worried, you know,” he starts to ramble, “because sometimes you’re gone for long periods of time and I always hear horror stories about boats and storms and I think about how that might happen to you and I get scared and I know you like helping people who need it, but what if that goes wrong? What if you don’t come home? I can’t… I can’t lose you too.”  _

_ “You won’t,” there’s a gentle squeeze of his hands and Seungmin hesitantly looks up, “I promise. I’m sorry for scaring you. You’re too young to be worrying about things like this.” His dad runs his thumb over Seungmin’s knuckles, brows knitted. “I’ll be more careful; I’ll always come home for you, I swear. All right?” Seungmin gives him a minute nod and his hands are released. Immediately he brings them up to rub at his eyes and wick away the few tears that have fallen. “You know I always keep my promises.”  _

_ There’s a loud thud from upstairs and both of their heads turn at the sound. “You better go check,” his dad motions for him to go. “You can ask him about dinner while you’re at it.”  _

_ He’s not really sure what he’s expecting to see when he pushes open his door, but his drawer on the ground isn’t it. All he can do is gape at a frozen, very guilty looking Hyunjin and look between him and the contents of the drawer, now spilled on his floor. It’s nothing of much value - he uses this one to store larger seashells, the ones that don’t fit in the jars - but that doesn’t make Seungmin any more happy about it. Drawers don’t just fall out.  _

_ “What are you doing?” He does his best not to sound angry, since his father wants him to be nice to guests - and because he and Hyunjin are friends and he wants to give him the benefit of the doubt right now - but it’s hard when the scene is so incriminating. _

_ “Um,” Hyunjin’s eyes dart around, “I noticed the drawer was open and I tried to close it, but it was stuck and while I was trying to loosen it I accidentally pulled it out?” _

_ “Are you asking me or telling me?” _

_ “Telling you.” Right. Seungmin sighs. It isn’t worth it to refute him. It isn’t like he took anything anyway, so he just kneels and collects the shells with Hyunjin’s help.  _

_ “My dad wants to know if you want to stay for dinner.” Hyunjin blinks at him. “He thought soup might be good for your throat. Unless you have to go home; then don’t worry about it.” He picks up the drawer and slides it back into place, noting that it moves with ease, like it has all other occasions he’s used it. There’s a niggling feeling at the back of his head, but he tries his best to ignore it. He has no reason not to trust Hyunjin. “And your clothes will probably be dry by then, so I can have mine back.” Seungmin is pretty average size for a kid his age, maybe a little on the shorter side, and it doesn’t go unnoticed how loose they seem on Hyunjin. Their district, despite its booming industry, is no stranger to poverty, and as he gets older Seungmin is less and less blind to it. He and his father aren’t well off by any means, but Seungmin knows they’re luckier than some. It wouldn’t surprise him if Hyunjin and his family were part of this “some.” _

_ “I don’t want to impose,” Hyunjin frowns. _

_ “You’re not,” Seungmin is quick to assure him, “as long as you want to, we’d be happy to have you.” _

_ “Okay,” Hyunjin smiles a bit, “tell him I’d like to stay then.”  _

_ “Tell him yourself; he doesn’t bite.” Seungmin pushes Hyunjin gently towards the door. “I’m coming too, don’t worry,” he says when Hyunjin looks back at him with mild panic. He’s probably thinking about how he ran away when Seungmin’s dad spoke to him last time. It was certainly a hell of a first impression. Seungmin’s eyes drift to his bedside table once more before he moves to go with Hyunjin and it’s only then that he realizes that his mother’s necklace is missing. For the first time in his life, Seungmin sees red. _

_ With speed he didn’t know he possessed, he grabs Hyunjin by the front of his shirt and slams his back against the wall nearest them. “Where is it?” He snarls. Hyunjin’s eyes widen in surprise and he squirms against Seungmin’s white knuckle grip. He should be able to shove him off, Seungmin thinks, but Hyunjin doesn’t seem to able to, perhaps still too exhausted from his drowning ordeal.  _

_ “I don’t know what you’re talking about!” _

_ “Bullshit,” Seungmin spits out, “give it back!”  _

_ “I said I don’t-”  _

_ “Don’t lie to me!” Seungmin raises a fist and Hyunjin stops squirming, eyes fixing on him.  _

_ “You won’t hit me.” A slight waver in his voice betrays the confidence of the statement. “We’re friends.” _

_ “You’re not my friend,” Seungmin snaps at him. “Friends don’t steal from each other.” _

_ “Then hit me.” Sun and stars, Seungmin wants to. His jaw aches from anger, his hand shakes, he’s never been so furious before and yet... There’s a hard thud and pain shoots up his arm. Hyunjin looks at Seungmin’s fist, punching the wall next to him, with an unreadable expression.  _

_ “Just give it back.” His voice is like ice.  _

_ “Just buy another,” Hyunjin all but sneers, “it’s just a necklace. If you won’t even hit me for it, then clearly it isn’t that important to you.” Seungmin pushes back harder. _

_ “You don’t know what you’re talking about.” _

_ “It took you that long to notice it was missing? You won’t even notice it’s gone. Besides, if you aren’t even wearing it, then I’ll get more use out of it than you will. Why keep it around if it’s collecting dust?” With every word, Seungmin’s anger grows. “It’s too fine a thing for that. I don’t know how someone like you got your hands on it but-” _

_ “Shut up!” Seungmin can’t take it anymore. “Just shut up! That necklace,” hot tears run down his face, “is the most precious thing I own.” His grip on Hyunjin’s shirt loosens. “It’s… it’s my mother’s.”  _

_ “I’m sure she’ll understand.” With little effort, Hyunjin shoves Seungmin away. There’s a hard, unkind look in his eyes, a side of him Seungmin hasn’t seen before. He’s looked tired and wary and tense and really far older than he is, but he has never looked unkind. Maybe this was the real Hyunjin all along. Seungmin doesn’t like this Hyunjin. _

_ “But  _ **_you_ ** _ don’t,” Seungmin gives way to desperation, “my mother is dead. That’s all I have left of her.” Hyunjin’s demeanor suddenly changes. His whole face softens and for once, he looks like the kid he is.  _

_ “I’m sorry,” he says quietly, sticking a hand in his pocket and pulling out the necklace, “I didn’t realize…” Seungmin all but snatches the chain from him. _

_ “I don’t care about your excuses.” He swears he can see Hyunjin flinch at his harsh tone. “You tried to… to steal from me. More than that, you wanted to take the thing that matters the most to me.” _

_ “I didn’t know it was-” _

_ “It doesn’t matter,” another flinch, “it wouldn’t be okay anyway.” _

_ “Do you remember her at all?” The question catches Seungmin off guard a bit. _

_ “Huh?” He almost forgets to be angry. “What’s that got to do with anything?” Hyunjin shrugs at him and Seungmin narrows his eyes. What if this is some tactic to distract him so Hyunjin can take something else? But Hyunjin doesn’t  _ **_look_ ** _ like he intends on doing anything (though that’s what Seungmin had thought last time and look where that had gotten him). If anything, he looks genuinely curious. “No. I wish I did, but I was too young when she died. All I’ve got are some stories.” He doesn’t know if it’s possible to miss a person he never met, but Seungmin does.  _

_ “How old were you?” There’s something empathetic swimming in Hyunjin’s eyes. “When she died, I mean.” _

_ “Few hours.” By now all the anger has bled from his voice and his person and Seungmin feels tired from it. He sits on his bed, looking down at the necklace in his hand. “I never knew her.” _

_ “Oh.” There’s a long pause between them and Hyunjin takes a seat on the floor, ankles crossed and knees pulled up. “I didn’t… I didn’t fall in, you know,” he says almost inaudibly, looking down at the floor. _

_ “What?” Seungmin’s pulled from thoughts of his mother. _

_ “What happened earlier; I didn’t fall into the water. I’m not stupid. I try to avoid the docks ‘cuz I know I can’t swim and I don’t want drown,” he swallows hard and Seungmin can tell it’s not easy for Hyunjin to be telling him this. “I- I mean, my parents owe some people money. A lot more than we can afford or even have and these people don’t take favors as payment,” he laughs humorlessly, “and I guess they’re fed up with getting IOUs. And I mean, it’s been bad before when we can’t cough up the money, but this time... “ He’s kept his face almost blank this whole time - which worries Seungmin a bit - but Seungmin swears he sees fear flicker across it. It’s gone as soon as it comes, however, and he’s left thinking that perhaps he simply imagined it. “This time, they might’ve borrowed a little more than a lot from a little more than a shady guy and couldn’t pay it back. He had me thrown in the water when he found out as a ‘warning’.”  _

_ “Does he know you can’t swim?” Seungmin almost doesn’t want to know the answer. _

_ “I don’t know. It’s not like I tell people, but he seems to know everything, so...” Hyunjin frowns and Seungmin’s stomach turns at the implication of what he’s saying. “I was gonna sell your necklace to get the money. Next time that guy sees me, I think it’ll be worse than a warning if I- we, don’t pay him back.”  _

_ “Maybe we could help you.” Seungmin bites his lip, brow furrowed in thought. His dad would want to help, wouldn’t he? “I don’t have much,” he reaches a hand under his mattress until he hits the coin pouch he hides under there, “but it’s better than nothing, right?” _

_ “I can’t ask that of you.” _

_ “You’re not, though; I’m offering. If this is some sort of pride thing, then forget it. Your life matters more than pride, I’m sure your parents think so.” _

_ “It’s not that,” Hyunjin is shaking his head frantically, “but you can’t help me.” _

_ “Look, I know we’re not well off, but we can spare at least a little money. I’ll ask-” _

_ “Seungmin,” there’s a sharp knock on his door frame and both boys jerk their heads to see Seungmin’s dad leaning against the door frame, an uncharacteristically serious expression on his face. “Come downstairs for a moment.” He looks at Hyunjin and smiles a bit. “I assume you’ll be staying for dinner. The soup shouldn’t take long.” _

_ “How much did you hear?” Seungmin asks when they’re out of Hyunjin’s earshot. _

_ “Enough.” For some reason, he feels like he’s being scolded, even though he’s sure he’s done nothing wrong.  _

_ “We’ll help him, won’t we?”  _

_ “ _ **_You_ ** _ won’t do anything.” The sternness in his father’s tone surprises Seungmin and he frowns. _

_ “I don’t understand. You’ll jump in to save a drowning person you don’t even know, but I can’t give money to someone I do?” It doesn’t seem fair.  _

_ “You don’t know what you’d be getting into, Seungmin.” His dad looks at him, worry and stress creasing his face. “I’m not letting you get involved.” _

_ “But why not? You’d do it.”  _

_ “You’re not me, all right?” His dad rakes a hand through his hair and sighs. “This is dangerous. You worry about me, right?” Seungmin nods. “Well, I worry about you. More than you know. If you help Hyunjin and get tangled up in this mess, I don’t know if I can protect you. Seungmin,” hands squeeze his shoulders and his dad looks at him beseechingly, “promise me you won’t get involved.” _

_ “But Hyunjin-” _

_ “I know. Just promise me.” His father sounds almost like he’s begging him. Seungmin’s never heard him like that. “Please.” _

_ “I promise,” he says slowly. It feels wrong to just leave Hyunjin to fend for himself, but this is his dad. Seungmin knows he wouldn’t ask this of him without good reason. He’ll try to figure something else out while they eat, a way he can help Hyunjin without his direct involvement. Even if Hyunjin did try to rob him… Seungmin doesn’t think he should just cut him out completely. He didn’t do it just for the fun of it and he did explain himself, and Seungmin feels like Hyunjin could use a friend right about now. Especially if this is dangerous, like his dad says _

_ But Seungmin comes up with nothing by the time the meal is over and he feels horrible. What if Hyunjin’s family can’t come up with the money? What if next time his dad isn’t there to save him? What if this is the last time he sees him? What if, what if, what if. He’s too wrapped up in his own frightening thoughts to realize his dad pulls Hyunjin aside while Seungmin washes their bowls. He does, however, notice the pouch of coins hugged tightly to Hyunjin’s chest as he waves goodbye and sees the stress on his dad’s face.  _

_ “I thought you said it was too dangerous.” He’s upset that his father would do exactly what he told Seungmin not to and gives him an accusatory glare. _

_ “I said it was too dangerous for  _ **_you_ ** _ ,” his dad puts a hand on Seungmin’s shoulder, but he shrugs it off.  _

_ “You swore you’d be more careful. How is this keeping your promise?” _

_ “I figured if I didn’t help your friend then you’d find a way to. And that’s too risky. I’ll break my promise a hundred times over if it means that you stay safe. You mean more to me than anything, Seungmin, and I won’t let anything happen to you, so long as I live.” _

“-and then, get this, he tells me that because  _ I’m _ the apprentice I should be the one to do the dishes. They weren’t even my dishes! I’m apprenticing as a blacksmith, not a kitchen maid.” Jeongin leans against the fence and throws his head back dramatically. “It’s not in my job description to do the household chores. I mean, I already do plenty of sweeping and stuff around the forge. I don’t see why Jisung can’t do something for once,” he complains. Seungmin nods and hums along as he grooms Fish, picking bits of hay out of her mane. He’ll probably bring her back to the inn when winter hits. Though her coat gets thick, Jisung’s house doesn’t really have the appropriate shelter for a horse and Seungmin only wants the best for Fish. He’s in and out of listening to Jeongin, who’s been ranting for at least 20 minutes about Jisung and how annoying he is. This isn’t new; he’s been doing this pretty much since the day they got here. And, if the past few days have been any indication, Jisung should be along at some point to tell Seungmin how much he hates Jeongin. He’s not really sure when he signed up to be the sounding board for this feud, but he supposes that they see him as the neutral party in all of this. 

“So anyway, do you think Woojin would suspect something if I poisoned him? Or is a sudden mysterious disappearance better?”

“Yeah, sounds good,” Seungmin says absently. Then he stops for a moment and processes exactly what Jeongin’s just said to him. “Wait, what?”

“See, you aren’t even listening,” Jeongin harrumphs. “I  _ knew _ you were spacing out. If you were bored, you could have said something.” 

“Sorry, Jeongin,” Seungmin offers him a half smile, “it wasn’t ‘cause I was bored. I was just thinking about what to do with Fish in the winter.” And about his dad and Hyunjin, but Jeongin doesn’t need to know that. Telling him about them in the first place was enough. “You could’ve done half the dishes or something. Compromise, you know.”

“Oh no, there’s no compromise with Jisung. I don’t know if it’s because he’s older than me or what, but he thinks he can boss me around. I’m not his apprentice and I refuse to be treated as such.” Jeongin folds his arms and frowns. “Asshole,” he mumbles.

“He’s not,” Seungmin sighs, “he’s just…” Jeongin doesn’t know about Felix and it isn’t Seungmin’s place to tell him or pique his curiosity. 

“An asshole,” Jeongin says firmly and Seungmin shoots him a look.

“You weren’t much nicer when you first met him,” he chides, “and you sure aren’t acting like it now either.” 

“Whatever,” Jeongin shrugs, “he still started it.” He reaches a hand out to Fish and gently strokes her muzzle. They’re quiet for a moment and it’s unusual for the two of them, who’ve built a great rapport in the short time they’ve known each other and talk a lot - even if Jeongin does complain about Jisung most of the time. “How are you?” He asks suddenly.

“Me?” Seungmin blinks in surprise. “I’m all right. Why?”

“I don’t know,” Jeongin squints at him, “you seem different today; quieter.” Does he? Deep down, he knows why. It happens every Turn, but recently he’s not been around people when it does. Not even Sunwoo, as Seungmin was travelling this time last Turn and the Turn before. 

“Oh. Yeah, I’m fine. I just couldn’t get comfortable last night so I didn’t sleep well and I guess I’m still kind of tired,” he lies. Jeongin eyes him for another second, then shrugs.

“Trust me, I understand. Sleeping on the floor is killing me. I wake up and feel like I’m 90. Back home I never-” Jeongin launches into another story and Seungmin let’s himself focus on it. If nothing else, it’s nice to think about something other than the people who’ve left him.

 

Seungmin is unlucky. There’d been a time, when he’d been young and only just learning the truth of his mother’s death, he’d thought he was cursed. His dad hadn’t liked it when he said that though, and he’d been the reason Seungmin had finally stopped believing it. When his dad had died, however, the feeling resurged, despite his best efforts to keep it down. It wasn’t his fault, he  _ knows _ that, but that almost made it worse. And when Hyunjin left? Well, that’s the only way he can think of it again. Seungmin is unlucky; Seungmin is cursed. Everyone he loves leaves him and he’s doomed to be alone. He has Jeongin and Jisung and Woojin and Sunwoo, sure, but for how long? Based on his track record, they’ll leave him too. He won’t deny the thought scares him. Seungmin’s not sure he could handle it. 

Usually, he doesn’t think of this. He thinks about his dad a lot- how can he not when he was the most important person in Seungmin’s life for 15 Turns? - and Hyunjin makes appearances in his thoughts more often than Seungmin would care to admit. Especially after he’s seen him again. But Seungmin doesn’t think about the loneliness. He likes to remember the happy parts, not the soul crushing bits, so sue him. And most of the time that works just fine for him. But his birthday is soon, tomorrow to be exact, and that is the one time in a Turn that the loneliness really grabs hold of him. He doesn’t celebrate it anymore; why would he when there is no one he can consider family anymore? Instead, it’s become a day to ruminate on his life and think about his dad… and Hyunjin. What if he’d spent the day with his dad instead of Hyunjin? What if he’d worked on the docks to make money instead of starting an apprenticeship? What if he hadn’t lost his temper at Hyunjin that one time? What if he’d tried to stop the soldiers? Maybe then Seungmin would still have the people he cares about. 

Looking around Jisung’s home, Seungmin realizes that Jisung must feel that same. His parents are both alive, but they’re in the Capital, and Felix… well, Seungmin understands that feeling. But Jisung has Woojin, and for that Seungmin is glad. If he hadn't had Hyunjin when he'd lost his dad, he doesn't know what he would've done. Seungmin also thinks that it's good that Jisung got out of the house. Not because he's glad he's using it - it was a really nice gesture on Jisung's part, but Seungmin would've been fine at the inn as well - but because he knows how much it hurts to come back to a house that reminds you of your dead family member. He hadn't had anywhere else to go and for a long while, coming home was a fresh reminder that his dad wouldn't be. 

Jisung's house isn't quite like his, however. It feels rather empty to Seungmin, and not just because no one else is living there at the moment (Seungmin has long since gotten used to an empty house). It's more open than the homes in District Seven, built out rather than up, and it isn't so cramped as Woojin's is. It's more that there aren’t many personal items around the house - at least none that Seungmin can see. There's a quilt in the living room that he won't deny using as the house gets cold at night and he thinks he's seen a few in Jisung and Felix's bedroom, but he hasn't poked around in there. He's sure there must be more than that, must be things he doesn't notice because he isn't part of the family, but it makes the house feel different than he's used to nonetheless. 

Now, Seungmin might be used to being alone in a house, but he was used to that in Aramoor. When he got bored, there were plenty of things to do. District Nine, however, is rural. Unless he wants to farm - which he doesn't - there's not much he can do around here. He supposes he could spend his time at Woojin's with the others, but as entertaining as he thinks it would be, he doesn't want to do that right now. Because getting caught up in your thoughts is so much better, right? So instead, he's set about exploring the land Jisung's family owns. Honestly, there isn't much of interest unless you think cabbage is interesting - and Seungmin doesn't - but at least it keeps him occupied. Well,  _ kept _ him occupied. He's exhausted that avenue. He had considered reading the few books that are collecting dust in the living room, but they're all the boring sort: almanacs and  _ The Farmers’ Guide to Fickle Crops _ and things like that. And Seungmin, who's read about 50 different books on sailing and at least 3 on types of rope and knots, can't say he's quite desperate enough to read about farming yet.

Thus we have his current dilemma. He's beyond curious - and who wouldn't be, staying in a new house? - to explore the house more. He's confined himself mostly to the living room,  and occasionally he'll go to the kitchen, but he’s primarily been eating at the inn or grabbing something at Woojin's. Sun and stars, does Seungmin know he shouldn't snoop, but the temptation is enormous. And it's winning out over his other idea of “lay on the floor until someone comes knocking on the door to update him on the Jisung-Jeongin drama.” He won't rifle through drawers or anything, he swears to himself, nothing like that. He just wants to look around a little. What Jisung doesn't know can't hurt him and Seungmin won't disturb anything. It’ll be like he was never there.

There isn’t much of the house to explore, really. Aside from the living room and kitchen, there are only two other rooms: Jisung and Felix’s room and their parents’ room. The door to their parents’ room is closed and Seungmin can only bring himself look in from the doorway. The room is clean, if a bit dusty. Last time Seungmin was in here, it was to take Jisung’s dad to the Capital and the feeling of illness still lingers in the atmosphere he gets from the room. He takes notice of the needlework hanging on the wall, something he hadn’t payed attention to last time. Various cross stitches of birds and flowers and a few different quotes hang on the walls. Their colors are a bit faded and Seungmin realizes Jisung’s mom must have made them when she still lived here. He wonders if his mom would have done that and frowns when he realizes he doesn’t even know. A hand comes up to his neck and he runs a finger over the starfish pendant he’s now taken to wearing. It’s easier now that they aren’t in Aramoor and he doesn’t have to worry about it being stolen, and Seungmin could never bring himself to leave it behind. Just like the moon snail shell and the picture of him and his father. This necklace is the only thing Seungmin has to keep his mother’s memory alive, aside from a few stories his father had told him. And he’s terrified those will fade with time. The more his eyes wander around the room, the worse he feels, so Seungmin closes the door without taking another step. 

He’s hesitant to enter Jisung and Felix’s room. The door is open a bit so he can see some of it from outside - which is why he knows they have some blankets like the one in the living room - but it feels… odd to go in. Like he’s trespassing. Jisung never explicitly told him to not to, but Seungmin feels almost like he’s violating the trust Jisung has given him in letting him stay here. Nonetheless, his curiosity and boredom once again win out and he pushes the door open to reveal the rest of the room. It’s smaller than their parents’ room, he thinks, but it seems more open since the boys sleep on bedrolls rather than a large bed. The two mats are pushed together in approximately the center of the room, but it’s clear that the space belongs to two very different people and the sides are distinct. To his right - Felix’s side - there’s an assortment of brown, dried up plants, arranged so the sunlight doesn’t miss a single one, as Seungmin can see now. Beside the dresser, there’s a small basket filled with various pouches and as Seungmin steps closer he can make out neatly stitched plant names on them. They must have seeds in them then. In contrast to Felix’s formerly garden like side, Jisung’s is entirely devoid of any sort of greenery. His has various bits of needlework strewn around, some on a low work table, some seemingly fallen on the floor, some hanging on the walls like his mother’s are. There’s a shirt with a large tear, half sewn with the needle and thread still in it, that takes up a majority of the space on the table. Seungmin can sew as well as the next person, and it’s the needlework that really catches his attention. Some of it is messy and imprecise, as though done by a child, but he can see the progression of skill with each one he looks at until they’re practically indistinguishable from those in the other room. 

There is one, however, that Seungmin is positive Jisung didn’t make. In neat print it reads  _ Home is where the heart is  _ and beneath it there’s a surprisingly detailed rendering of the Capital. If it didn’t strike him that Jisung’s mom must have made it - because Jisung has never seen the Capital - he’d almost call it kitsch, but instead he once again feels the acute pain of no longer having a parent who would do something like this for him. He can't help but want to give it a closer look and walks towards it to do so, only to be distracted a few steps away by a sudden slight wobble at his feet. Not a creaky floorboard, that wouldn't surprise him, but a definite wobble of one partly covered by Jisung's sleep mat. It's the only one in the house he's felt do that and Seungmin's brows knit in confusion and curiosity. Maybe he imagined it? He steps on it again and can feel it move once more, so it isn't just his imagination. He lifts the bedroll up to see the rest of the plank, noticing that there’s a notch in the wood, just near the edge of the board and he knows it's probably nothing, probably just a coincidental loose board, but he's gotten this far and it'd be a shame not to investigate. Even if there is nothing - and that's the most likely outcome - Seungmin knows that if he doesn't look the curiosity will drive him mad later. So he uses the notch and pulls the board up and prepares to be disappointed to see nothing at all.

He isn't. Not after a moment, at least. While initially it just looks like there’s nothing but earth and darkness, after Seungmin - against his better judgement - sticks a hand in and feels around a bit he can feel something cold and hard, so naturally he grabs it and pulls it out. It’s a plain wooden box, but there’s clearly something in it. Of course Seungmin opens it. At first he’s shocked, then as realization crashes into him like a wave the shore, he's kind of pissed. The light from the window makes the metals glint like they're mocking him and all Seungmin can do is stare at the collection of jewelry that had been so carefully hidden beneath the floorboard. Beneath  _ Jisung's bedroll.  _ Jisung's been pawning things off to Seungmin since Seungmin started coming to District Nine and Seungmin had never really questioned it, assuming it was old family heirlooms he didn't have any use for and getting approximately the same answer when he’d asked. Clearly that isn't the case. And that means… that means he’s been dealing stolen goods for the better part of two Turns! Forget Jeongin, Seungmin might kill Jisung himself. He snaps the box shut and replaces the board, mouth set in a tight line. Jisung better have a mighty good fucking excuse for this.

 

Seungmin doesn’t bother with knocking on the door or exchanging pleasantries with Woojin and Jeongin before going in search of Jisung. He knows Jisung will be at the back of the house, still working on Sally’s coop, and so he goes there directly. Jisung brightens when he catches sight of Seungmin and raises his hand to wave, but freezes when he sees Seungmin’s stormy expression. 

“What’s wrong?” Jisung asks hesitantly when Seungmin stops less than a foot away from him, no less pissed than he was earlier. His gaze drifts to the box tucked under Seungmin’s arm and panic fills his eyes as they return to meet Seungmin’s. Seungmin, for his part, holds the box out in front of him and, without breaking eye contact, opens it and unceremoniously dumps the contents onto the ground.

“Explain,” Seungmin says shortly.

“It's not what it looks like.” Jisung's eyes are wide and he fidgets his hands in front of him, backing away from Seungmin. “Really, it's not so bad, I promise.” 

“Oh, so you didn't steal all these?” Jisung flinches and opens and closes his mouth like he's trying to find the right words. “You've been pawning shit off to me for  _ Turns _ , Jisung. Do you know what could happen to me if I got caught with stolen goods? If someone recognized that I had their necklace and reported me? I've been risking my neck this whole time just because  _ you _ can't keep your hands off any shiny thing that catches your eye.”

“It's not like that,” Jisung says meekly, shrinking beneath Seungmin's anger. “I only pawned stuff when we needed the money, I swear, Seungmin, and it was always stuff from a while back so no one would miss it. And I never did it when the Rounds were here because you were never around at the same time and I thought that would be good because a lot of the other merchants do come when the Rounds are here and I really never meant to put you at risk. I didn't think about that, really I didn’t,” he rambles. 

“I should’ve known something was suspicious.” Seungmin narrows his eyes. “No one has that many “family heirlooms” lying around unwanted.” He very nearly brings up last Cycle, the sentence half formed on his tongue, when he stops himself short at the sight of Jisung’s face. He’s still staring at Seungmin with wide eyes, silent tears streaking his cheeks and Seungmin just can’t. He’s angry, but he knows Jisung already blames himself for Felix’s death and Seungmin of all people knows that reminding him is the worst thing he can do. “Maybe you don’t get it, but this is my livelihood, Jisung. I could have lost that because of you.”

“I know,” Jisung’s head drops, “I know. I’m sorry. I really, really am, Seungmin.” His shoulder shake a bit as he tries to recenter himself, to calm down. “I never thought about what would happen. I… I should have. I’m sorry.” He keeps repeating his apology and slowly the anger bleeds from Seungmin and he just sighs. 

“What’s done is done. I’m not happy about it, but... I do forgive you. I don’t think you meant for anything bad to happen.” Jisung hasn’t stopped crying, head still bowed towards the pile of stolen goods. Hesitantly, Seungmin steps forward and pulls Jisung into a hug. Jisung’s arms don’t move from their sides and Seungmin wonders if he shouldn’t have, if this is too much for Jisung, if he’s overstepped. Then, slowly, as if he’s worried Seungmin will change his mind, Jisung hugs him back.

“You know,” Seungmin says tentatively, softly, “you really shouldn’t steal. Nothing good will come from it.”

“I know,” Jisung’s voice breaks, “I figured that out already.” Seungmin’s heart aches for Jisung. He wishes he could tell him that everything will be okay and that it’ll stop hurting, but he can’t. They’re words he’d heard enough times to make him go mad and he knows they aren’t true. How can everything be okay when the image of his father, bloody and almost unrecognizable is still seared into his brain? There are still nights when he’s so close to reaching him, so close to stopping the soldiers, so close to grabbing the still body before it falls into the dark sea below, but he never can. The pain is dull now, something that he can ignore most of the time, but still something that clings to him like a shadow. It doesn’t stop hurting; Seungmin has just adapted to it. So he won’t lie to Jisung with empty words.

“I know it’s hard, Jisung.” The two break apart from their embrace but Seungmin still keeps a hand on Jisung’s arm, a small show of support. “But you’re strong. Really, you are. Even if you think you can’t, you’ll get through this. It’s okay… it’s okay to lean on someone. I know I’m not Woojin, but you can always come to me if you want to. I’ll listen.”  _ I know _ .  _ I understand _ . He hopes Jisung can tell that he means it, that he’s not just saying it to go through the motions of courtesy. Jisung gives him a small nod, like he doesn’t quite believe Seungmin, but Seungmin will take what he can get considering he’d initially come here to yell at Jisung. The pile of tangled jewelry sits between them, forgotten. 

“So, I heard Jeongin’s got a problem with doing dishes,” he begins carefully, keeping an eye on Jisung’s expression, but figures that letting him get some frustration over Jeongin out will distract him a bit. “How’s that been working out?”

  
  


_ “Dad?” Moonlight streams through the window in his dad’s bedroom, the light stopping mere centimeters from Seungmin’s bare feet.  _

_ “Huh? Seungmin?” His father struggles against his sheets and sits up, alert and almost frantic at the sound of Seungmin’s voice. “What is it? Are you hurt? Did something happen?” His dad isn’t really that much of a light sleeper, Seungmin’s noticed. Seungmin can usually make a fair amount of clatter before he wakes up - probably because of all the time he spends on boats - but the moment Seungmin addresses him, he’s up in an instant. So Seungmin tries not to, because if anyone deserves to sleep it’s his dad.  _

_ “I had a nightmare.” He hasn’t had many recently, which is rather wonderful. When he’d been much younger, he’d had a lot more, especially during storms when his dad had been out at sea. Seungmin’s long since learned to comfort himself on those occasions. Tonight, however, his dad is here and the dark, stormy sea is not what frightens him. His dad opens the covers and gestures Seungmin over, much like he used to do when Seungmin was small. His eyes catch on the picture of his parents that rests on the bedside table, taken when they’d gotten married, and guilt knots in his stomach at how happy they look… especially his dad. _

_ “What was it about?” Seungmin doesn’t want to look at his father, instead facing the portrait and tracing lines in the sheets with a finger. _

_ “You left me and I ran and ran and ran, but I couldn’t catch you; you just got farther away. Even when I asked you to stay and pleaded with you, you just said you should’ve done it a long time ago. You told me you didn’t love me and that you never had and that you’d never even wanted me,” Seungmin’s hands clutch the sheets, “and then you were gone and it was just me in the house alone.” There’s a long, heavy silence and Seungmin can hardly breathe. He doesn’t know what he expected his dad to say, but the silence scares him more than any words could. _

_ “Seungmin, I love you so very, very much. You’re my whole world and I would never- I  _ **_could_ ** _ never leave you.” Sincerity bleeds through his voice, but Seungmin’s nightmare refuses to let him go so easily. Has his father ever looked as happy as he does in that picture?  _

_ “Do you miss her?” They don’t often talk about his mother. Despite the way his dad’s eyes light up when he talks about her, Seungmin can tell it just makes him sad. _

_ “Every single day.” There’s the guilt again, coiling and tightening.  _

_ “Do you ever wish that I hadn’t been born?” He can almost hear the world come to a grinding halt. “Have you ever not wanted me because you could have had her?” A hand grips his shoulder and pulls him so he faces away from the portrait. His dad’s brows are drawn together in hurt and concern, eyes searching Seungmin’s face.  _

_ “No,” he asserts, makes sure Seungmin sees and hears his conviction, “I have never wanted that. Why on earth would you think that?” _

_ “Because it’s my fault,” Seungmin says in a small voice. If he hadn’t been born, his mother wouldn’t have died and his parents would still be happy and together. He's terrified that someday his dad will wake up and realize that he'd be better off without a son - without Seungmin. _

_ “Seungmin, it is not your fault. It isn’t anybody’s fault; it was an accident. I have never blamed you for it and I have never thought my life would be better without you. I’ve always wanted you and I’ve always loved you. I always will.” _

_ “But Mom-” _

_ “Sun and stars, she loved you so much, Seungmin, even though she only knew you for a few hours. I know wherever she is, she still does.” His dad pulls him close and wipes the tears that have begun to fall from Seungmin’s eyes. “You are my pride and joy, Seungmin, and you’re hers too.” _

_ “But-” _

_ “But nothing.” He can see tears welling up in his father’s eyes as well. “You mean everything to me; I love you no matter what.” Fundamentally, Seungmin knows that. He knows his dad loves him, but also knows that he’s the reason for the greatest sadness in his father’s life. He can say that it isn’t Seungmin’s fault countless times and Seungmin wouldn’t believe him because it is. He’s only had the pleasure of meeting his grandparents a few unfortunate times in his life, but they’ve made it abundantly clear what  _ **_they_ ** _ think of him as well. If his grandparents can see it and he can see it, who’s to say one day his dad won’t see it too?  _

_ Like he can hear Seungmin’s fear, his dad pulls him even closer, until Seungmin can hear his heartbeat. He’d done this before, Seungmin remembers faintly, when Seungmin had been little more than a toddler. It had soothed him when he’d been afraid of monsters that would crawl out from the sea and drag him into the depths or he just couldn’t sleep. Though it’s been a few Turns since then, it still comforts him. The lull of his heartbeat, like the lapping of waves, is familiar, is home. It covers the overwhelming negativity his mind is embroiled in like a warm blanket, tucking everything away and laying it to rest until there’s nothing left but his father’s soft voice repeating to him that he’s loved. Like this, Seungmin feels safe. For now, he isn’t afraid his father will leave him. _

_ “Sleep, Seungmin.” As gentle as a spring breeze, the words are only just audible. Seungmin nestles closer to his father, heavy eyelids already beginning to close. “May your dreams be filled with love.”  _

Dawn has barely broken when Seungmin’s eye flutter open and mind-numbing reality hits him. He isn’t a child in the warm security of his father’s arms, but a full fledged adult who can never feel such comfort again. Despite his warm blanket, he feels cold and for once he can’t blame the chilly fall morning. It’s a chore to sit up, to force himself to get ready for the day, even to chew the bread roll he’d taken from Woojin’s last night. Everything feels heavy and difficult, the very air like a weight on his shoulders. Seungmin almost finds it ironic that his father had often told him “May your dreams be filled with love,” because now, that’s the only place in which he can find it. He’d think it funny if it didn’t twist in his heart like a knife. Sure, there’s people in his life who care about him and who like him, but there’s no one who  _ loves _ him. He can only meet those people in dreams.

The hours trickle by like lazy raindrops on a window pane and it feels like every little thing reminds him of his dad somehow. Things he would have liked, things he would have hated, little things that made him happy. Like the clouds Seungmin is staring up at, watching as pale pink sky fades to blue. When he’d been little and his dad had had the day off, the two of them would go down to the beach and pick out all the shapes the clouds would make. Somehow, even in such a simple activity, his dad had always found a way to make Seungmin laugh so hard his stomach hurt. For a brief moment, he thinks he sees his father’s face in the clouds, but when he rubs his eyes there’s nothing but a fluffy blob. With a sigh, he sinks to the ground in pasture, back against a fence post and knees at his chest, and his head falls back to meet it with a  _ thunk _ , eyes falling shut. Sun and stars does he miss his dad. More than he can put into words. The past three Turns Seungmin’s written letters to him on this day as a way to say things he’ll never be able to tell him - something he knows his dad had done for his mom - and then thrown them in the ocean when he’s been home. But he won’t be back until the cold season this time, Cycles later than usual, and District Nine hardly has any bodies of water that Seungmin’s aware of, so he doesn’t know he’ll keep up his tradition this year. It stings more than it probably should, but he can’t shake the feeling that he’s somehow forsaking his father like this. 

A puff of warm air blows his hair off his forehead and Seungmin’s eyes open to see Fish’s head just to the side of his own. “Hey, Fishy,” he says softly, stroking her muzzle. The mare folds her legs under her and lays down beside him, giving Seungmin an almost expectant look until he straightens his legs and she places her head on them. She’s really more like an oversized dog than a horse in some ways, though the only person she’ll do this with is Seungmin. It’s as if she can sense he’s upset and this is her way of comforting him. He scratches between her ears. “I’m glad I’ve got you, Fish. You won’t leave me, right?” Obviously she doesn’t respond, but he likes to think she’d agree if she could. “You and me against the world, huh?” He sighs. “What do you think I should do, girl?” Fish lets out a deeps sigh of her own. “I guess I could burn it,” Seungmin concurs thoughtfully, “but I’d have to go to Woojin’s to do that.” There’s no firewood in Jisung’s house as the cold season is still Cycles away, so he can’t very well make a fire here. He frowns. “I don’t really want to go there today, though.” Fish flicks an ear at his softer voice. If Seungmin had his way, he wouldn’t see anyone today, but he knows that Jeongin at the very least will probably show up at some point. There’s an approving snort from his lap as he hits a particularly itchy patch. “You’re right; I could always go another day. And I’ll feel worse if I don’t write anything. You’re a smart girl, aren’t you Fishy-Fish?” He coos at her. They stay like this as the sun moves higher and higher in the sky, until long after Seungmin’s legs have fallen asleep.

He clicks his tongue and Fish raises her head from his legs. “Up, Fish,” Seungmin clicks again as he pulls himself to shaky, numb legs with the fence, not unlike a newborn foal. With what Seungmin’s taken to be the horse equivalent of a pout, Fish pushes herself up as gracefully as she can, bumps his shoulder with her nose, and nickers. “I know,” he says quietly, giving her a final pat, “I’ll be okay. I’ve done it before and I can do it again. I’ll see you later.” He ducks under the fence, gives Fish one last wave, and heads off towards the inn for food, making sure to avoid Woojin’s house. It’s too hard to be around them today, too hard to be bright. It’s not a state he wants them to see him in. With strangers, he has no image to uphold, so even if the food isn’t as good as Woojin’s and the company is nonexistent, just for today he prefers it.

 

It’s mid afternoon when Seungmin finally returns to the house. He’d taken his time at the inn - where he’d hoped for seaweed soup only to remember that District Nine doesn’t import seaweed, so he’d ended up ordering some pork dish - then wandered around the single stationary store in the village for a bit before finally buying some paper, a pen, and ink, and then, lastly, he’d purchased some apples for Fish before heading back. His shoulders tense when he sees Jeongin waiting in front of the house, drawing lines in the dirt with the toes of his boots, but he still tries to force a smile. 

“Hey, Jeongin.” Jeongin’s head jerks up to look at him. 

“There you are! I came by earlier too, but you weren’t here then either. I missed you at lunch.” He frowns ever so slightly. “Well, we all missed you, but it feels unfavorable to me when you aren’t there since Jisung and Woojin have known each other so long. And you know Jisung can never hold back from taking some sort of jab at me.” Jeongin’s bright smile returns. “But nevermind that.”

“Were you waiting long?” Seungmin’s tongue feels glued to the roof of his mouth. He  _ really _ doesn’t want to talk to Jeongin right now. 

“No, only a few minutes.” Jeongin peers at the bag in Seungmin’s hand curiously. “What did you get?”

“None of your business.” All right, maybe that comes out a little more standoffish than he means it to. Jeongin’s smile falters and Seungmin feels a knot of guilt form in his stomach. “Just some stationary and apples,” he tries for a more neutral, relaxed tone this time. He doesn’t want to snap at Jeongin, really, but it’s hard not to when he just wants to be left alone. 

“What for?” He knows Jeongin’s just curious and any other day it wouldn’t be an issue, but it still rubs him the wrong way. 

“The apples are for Fish, obviously.” Jeongin looks a little hurt at the “obviously,” but he just nods. “The stationary is for me. You should probably buy some for yourself too. I’m sure Minho’s waiting for you to give him a report, isn’t he? Maybe you should go do that and make yourself useful.” At that, Jeongin’s face falls.

“I can always do it later,” he mumbles, looking down at the ground, “I just wanted to see you because I didn’t get to earlier. Can I ask where you went? Or is that none of my business either?” Seungmin takes a long pause. “Woojin wanted to know too,” Jeongin adds, digging the toe of his boot into the ground, “and Jisung… I guess.”

“I went to the inn and then I went shopping,” Seungmin tells him shortly.

“The inn?” Jeongin echoes. “Why? You already know Woojin doesn’t mind when you eat with us.”

“I wanted to see if they had seaweed soup,” Seungmin shrugs, “I knew Woojin wouldn’t and I didn’t feel like dealing with all your drama on top of that.” Jeongin winces. “They didn’t anyway, so it’s not like it matters. Are you done interrogating me now?”

“What is  _ with _ you today?” Jeongin’s brows are furrowed at him. “You’re never this snippy.”

“Yeah, well, maybe sometimes I can’t be the happy person you all want me to be, okay?” Seungmin finally snaps. “If it bothers you so much, why don’t you just leave me alone and go complain about Jisung to someone else?”

“I didn’t say it bothered me.” Jeongin digs at the ground more aggressively. Then he stops suddenly and stares at Seungmin intently. “Wait, you said seaweed soup?” 

“Yeah, but they didn’t have it. What’s that got to do with anything?”

“Oh,” Jeongin’s eyes go wide, “ _ Oh _ .” It’s like he’s finally put in the last piece of the puzzle. “It’s your birthday, isn’t it?” He asks softly.

“I… um… it’s not… yeah,” Seungmin eventually concedes and his posture goes slack. “Yeah, it is. Please don’t… don’t say anything. I’d rather we just pretend things were like any other day.”

“But they’re not.” Please tell him that doesn’t mean Jeongin wants to celebrate, please tell him that doesn't mean Jeongin wants to celebrate, please tell him- “Clearly it’s causing you pain.” His eyes search Seungmin’s face, flicker to his necklace, and then back up. “Is it because of your father?” Seungmin feels like he’s been shot. Sure, Jeongin knows about his dad and there’s more to this than just that, but how can he guess such a large factor so quickly? Jeongin has never mentioned losing anyone, but there’s a knowing, sad look in his eyes and Seungmin wonders if maybe death has touched his life as well. He doesn’t trust his voice, feeling the lump of emotion stuck in his throat at the mere thought of talking about his dad, about this, so he just nods. “I’m sorry. Do you… do you want me to go?”

“No.” Seungmin surprises himself with his answer. “Not yet.” He sinks to the ground and Jeongin sits down beside him, their shoulders just barely touching. Neither of them makes an effort to speak - and what is there to say? - but even in the deafening silence, for once Seungmin doesn’t feel quite so awful. Everything still feels heavy and suffocating, but at least the dam hasn’t broken. The fabric on his forearm tightens a bit and he looks down only to see that Jeongin is clutching his sleeve, not unlike Seungmin would do with his father when he was young, and his mouth is set in a determined line. The gesture is surprisingly grounding, like an anchor to keep Seungmin from drifting away in the tumultuous sea that is his mind. “How did you know?”

“We eat seaweed soup in the Capital for birthdays too.”

“I mean about… you know. Did you-” 

“Not me.” Jeongin doesn’t look at him, but Seungmin can see shadows he’s never seen on Jeongin’s face before, not even when he’d found him crying and homesick. It’s a different breed of sadness, but one Seungmin can’t put a name to. “Someone very dear to me. It’s like this for him too.” He doesn’t say anything more and Seungmin doesn’t pry. For a little while longer they remain like this, but it isn’t long before Jeongin gives him an apologetic look. 

“I should go back. Woojin probably needs me.” Seungmin nods, swallows the tears that threaten to come when Jeongin lets go of his sleeve and stands up. “I’m sorry I can’t be of more help, Seungmin.” He means it too, Seungmin can tell.

“You’ve done more than you think.” And that’s true. The company made him feel less alone in the world and for this brief time, it’s felt like sunlight peeking through dark gray clouds. Watching Jeongin’s back get smaller and smaller as he walks back down the road, however, chases that away. He looks to the bag on the ground beside him and takes a deep breath before gathering his things and heading inside. 

Seungmin stares down at the paper on the table with apprehension.  _ It shouldn’t be this hard _ , he thinks,  _ he should be used to it _ . But it is hard and despite of that he knows this is something he has to do. 

_ Dear Dad, _ he begins, letters starting out neat despite his shaking hand,  _ It’s been more than four Turns now. Four Turns since I’ve seen you and four birthdays I haven’t been able to celebrate with you. I’m 19 today, but I think you know that. A lot’s happened since I last wrote to you. I saw Hyunjin again, for the last time in a long while. He barely acknowledged me though, and I think maybe he really has decided to forget me. It hurts, I won’t lie, but maybe it’s for the best. Maybe I should forget him too. I’ve also befriended a Capital dweller. Never thought I’d see the day, but it’s come. His name’s Jeongin and I think you’d like him. He’s kind of arrogant, but I think he’s a good kid beneath it all. I’ve also gotten close with some people in District Nine and I’m really glad to have met them. That’s where I am now, by the way. I’m sorry I can’t throw this one in the water too. I’m not sure if it’ll reach you if I just burn it, but I figure it’s worth a shot.  _

By now, the letters have turned more into a scrawl than anything and he’s unable to still the shaking of the pen in his hand.  _ I still miss you. I miss you so much. I try my best to be happy like you’d want me to be, but there’s still so many times it’s hard. Sometimes I don’t know what to do and I want to ask your advice but I can’t and I feel lost.  _ The first tear hits the paper and they just keep coming, blurring his vision and making everything he writes run together.  _ I feel so, so lost, Dad. You were always the light over the water, but now that you’re gone I have nothing, no one, to guide me. No one to love me. I can only hope I’ve done right by you. I hope you’d be happy and that I’ve made you proud. I’ve done my best, like you always told me to, and I hope it’s enough. I don’t know if it is.  _ He doesn’t know it it ever will be.  _ I hope I’ve made Mom happy too. Look after her for me, until I can meet her too. I’ll always miss you, but I’ll always love you too.  _

_ Thank you for loving me so much all those years. I’m not sure I deserved it, but thank you.  _

_ All my love, _

_ Seungmin _

There’s a light knocking on the door just as Seungmin puts the pen down and presses his hands against his eyes. “Not now, Jeongin.” He can only hope his voice isn’t as shaky as he feels like it is. The knocking comes again. “I said not now.” 

“Please,” Jeongin’s voice is gentle though it carries through the door, “I’m worried about you.” Hurriedly, Seungmin wipes his nose with a handkerchief and rubs his eyes again, trying to put himself together at least a bit. He doesn’t  _ want _ to worry anyone. He’s supposed to be the one keeping spirits up. Carefully, the letter is folded and placed in his pocket. The last thing he needs is someone to see that. 

“I’m all right,” he says with a small smile, pulling open the door, “I didn’t mean to worry you. Shouldn’t you be helping Woojin?” Jeongin doesn’t look like he buys Seungmin’s weak facade.

“He said it was fine. Have you been crying?” Seungmin grimaces. It’s pretty obvious, isn’t it? 

“No,” he says anyway, “it’s just the dust, you know.”

“Seungmin…” There's an unspoken  _ “I know you're lying _ .” Jeongin’s whole demeanor seems softer than usual, and more unsure, but his shoulders are squared in quiet determination as well. “You don’t have to be… you shouldn't be alone.” 

“But I  _ am _ .” And that’s all it take for Seungmin to break, his body shaking as he tries to breathe through sobs. “I am alone, Jeongin! And… and maybe I’m meant to be. Maybe it’s my recompense. I killed my mother, so my father had to die too. I hurt Hyunjin, so now I’ll never see him again. I barely even see Sunwoo anymore; he could die and I wouldn’t even be able to say goodbye! I have no one, Jeongin. No one.”

Suddenly he’s wrapped in a fierce hug, Jeongin’s chin propped on his shoulder. “You have me,” he says quietly. “You have me. You have Woojin and Jisung. I’m not going to let you be alone, Seungmin. You can’t bear everything by yourself.”

“Sure I can,” Seungmin laughs, but it’s a weak, fragile thing, wet with tears. “It’s how I’ve done it before.”

“But you shouldn’t have to.” Jeongin’s embrace tightens a bit. “Please don’t. Please.” Something almost desperate bleeds into his voice and he holds Seungmin not unlike a frightened child their mother. “Please. I can’t watch that again.” His voice is almost inaudible and Seungmin’s sure he’s not meant to have heard. “You were there for me; I want to be there for you too.” And while Seungmin doesn’t want people to worry about him, wants to be the one people can go to when they need cheering up, wants to pretend his weak and sad parts don’t exist, his heart begs for this. Begs for him to let someone actually care for once after two Turns of hiding any and all vulnerability and from doing his best to push it down even before then.

“Okay.” He’s still afraid Jeongin will leave too, knows he will when he returns to the Capital, but maybe, just for now, it won’t hurt to let him in. 

“I promise I’ll stay,” Jeongin loosens his hold on Seungmin a little. “I will. I won’t leave you. Trust me.” Seungmin, for his part, finally returns the embrace, closing his eyes to prevent the tears welling up in them from falling. He wants to believe Jeongin… no. He  _ will _ believe Jeongin. He  _ does  _ believe Jeongin.  

“I know,” Seungmin whispers, finding that the words come more easily than he’d expected them to. “I trust you.” And really, he does.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> brain said sad shit only sorry guys happier times on the horizon (the sorta distant horizon, but the horizon nonetheless)  
> as always, thanks for reading and commenting <3!


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